


Bloom

by bitter_leaf



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Louis, Excessive flower references, Florist Harry, Harry Styles said florist rights, Infidelity, Jealousy, Louis cheats with Harry not on him, M/M, Personal Growth, Pining, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Top Harry, Writer Louis, sorta hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 23:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21418303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitter_leaf/pseuds/bitter_leaf
Summary: Harry tucks the flower into the top pocket of Louis’ jacket, patting over his heart just once.“What is it?” Louis asks, eyeing the sunny little yellow flower, a bit like a buttercup, “It’s lovely.”Harry pushes a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles, “It’s a primrose. I got them in this morning, reminded me of you.”__When they first meet at Harry’s flower truck, Harry falls hard but Louis’ unavailable. Only before long, Harry reignites a spark that Louis thought long forgotten.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 45
Kudos: 347
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2019





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> CW for this fic containing depictions of an unhealthy relationship which includes controlling and manipulative behaviour. If you would like specifics prior to reading, my tumblr is in the end notes.
> 
> Thanks goes to Sam for the super quick and detailed beta, you are a gem! 
> 
> Finally, this fic features an OMC - if you'd like to see who I pictured, please head to the bottom of the page!

** **

** **

Harry is elbow-deep in a bucket of tall delphinium when he hears the small voice for the first time.

“Um, excuse me?” the voice says. “Do you have any peonies?”

Harry shakes his wet hands over the pavement, wipes them on his apron and spins around.

The owner of the voice is a young man, about his age, a petite little thing with messy chestnut-brown hair. He’s enveloped in a cosy-looking sweater and Harry thinks he looks about as soft as a new season peony would.

Harry smiles wide, unable to help himself. The man is laden with beautiful things, a bunch of blushing rhubarb, a baguette wrapped in crisp white paper, a jar of raw honey. Harry stops to wonder if his existence is as idyllic and beautiful as he looks on this still-freezing, mid-March Sunday morning.

“Uh…” Harry furrows his brow scratches his chin, “Not peonies, no. They’re not really in season for another couple of months.”

The man looks crestfallen and Harry feels immediately guilty, wondering if he’s inadvertently ruined the perfect bouquet for a dinner party, or disappointed the man’s demanding, sick Nan.

“I have some ranunculi? They’re pretty similar.” He scurries behind his van, a pastel pink kombi in which he manages to cram about four times as much stock as is strictly necessary for this early in the season, to grab one of the better bunches of the tight pink blooms.

“These guys are beautiful but tough. They like the cold weather.” Harry smiles at the bunch affectionately; he has a special relationship with all of his flower species.

The man looks at him quizzically before cracking a timid smile. “I mean, I guess they’ll be ok,” he pauses, teasingly, “if you’re willing to part with them.”

Harry huffs an embarrassed laugh, acknowledging the dig. “Better they go home with you than me. Let me wrap them up for you.”

Harry steps back to the table set up under the little canopy that stretches out from the van. the man roams the myriad of buckets that make up Harry’s stall, and there are flowers of every kind and colour, cheerful bunches of hardy bulb, tulips, daffodils and jonquils; tall sticks of Japanese quince, with their cherry-red cup-shaped flowers; there are roses, hellebores, irises, and Louis is overwhelmed by the sweet scent of the daphne in a bucket near Harry’s feet.

Harry looks up from his pile of wrapping paper as he scotch-tapes the last piece. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

The man looks taken aback, startled out of his reverie. He takes a beat before he replies, “Yeah, it’s amazing. But I guess you must be used to it.” He lowers his eyes.

“You never really get used to something that beautiful,” Harry says plainly, shrugging his shoulders as he extends the bouquet to the man. “Let’s call it a fiver.” Harry grins as their fingers brush as the man takes the bunch from him, handing over the note.

The man lowers his head to give them a sniff but looks disappointed and Harry mentally kicks himself–unlike peonies, the ranunculi have no scent. He puts them gently in his basket where they sit charmingly beside the rhubarb anyway.

“Thanks, then, for the...” the man trails off unable to remember the flowers’ complex name.

Harry smiles warmly, “You’re welcome, mate. See you next time.”

The man turns to head down the street and gets past the next stall before Harry calls after him.

“Wait!” He grabs a handful of the dripping branches from the bucket and hurries to catch up.

He stops dead in front of him and is briefly disappointed when the man again looks startled. He extends the sprigs of daphne in his hand, “I thought you might like them…to complement your bouquet.” Harry rakes his fingers through his long hair nervously.

The man looks up at him, into his eyes for the first time, and Harry sees they’re blue, like a forget-me-not. Never was a flower so more aptly named, Harry thinks, blushing with the man’s eyes on him. He’s older than Harry first thought, maybe even a year or two older than he is, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that Harry can’t bear.

The man accepts the flowers, the tiny white and pink blooms bobbing happily on their stalks, and Harry is delighted when he sees a blush creep onto the man’s cheeks.

“I’m Harry,” Harry offers, “I’m here every Sunday.”

Harry can see the man working through whether to offer his name or not and Harry lets out a sigh of relief when the man places the flower into his basket and offers his hand.

“Louis,” the man says, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly, “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

❀ ❀

When Louis gets home with his purchases, he dumps the lot on the posh granite benchtop, delicately pulling out his flowers to arrange them in a vase. He thinks back to the gentle man, _Harry_, with the flower truck, his long hair and his easy smile, wondering how carefree a person had to be to decide to become a professional flower-seller. Finally satisfied with his work, he puts the vase on the living room windowsill, out of the way.

It’s been a long time since he bought himself flowers, Louis thinks, and probably even longer since someone bought some for him, much less ran after him just to make him happy. He breathes in the heady scent of the daphne; Seb won’t be happy but Louis will just have to move them into his office before he comes home.

Louis lies down on the sofa, taking a few moments to reflect and enjoy how the handsome stranger made him feel–a few words, a look, a touch, making his heart pitter-patter more than Seb has in years. It’s a fanciful notion, he scolds himself, that the flower man was being anything other than friendly, looking after a customer, and he’s not stupid enough to think there could actually be anything there but it’s still fun, he thinks, pretending someone wanted him. Long term relationships aren’t easy particularly after nearly ten years but he can’t remember Seb ever making him feel special in that way. He snaps himself out of it, surely he did, in the early days, even if now he’s not really one for romance.

Louis wonders how he’d never seen Harry before, even when he didn’t let himself buy a bunch. Maybe his eyes just didn’t stray then, he thinks. He smiles to himself remembering the man’s gentle hands and tall, strong physique, despite the rather unbecoming apron. He wraps his arms around himself on the sofa, before he nods off to sleep.

“_Louis!_” Seb’s spiteful tone waves Louis from his nap. He sits up with a start and pushes his hair back of his forehead before his heart sinks, realising his mistake.

“What did I say?” His Northern accent sounds like Louis’ own but Louis think something about the way Seb overenunciates his vowels to spit out words when he’s angry is particularly intimidating. Seb’s toughness was one of the things Louis liked about him most when they met at barely sixteen but back then Seb’s aggression was never directed at _him_. Louis wonders how in a decade they went from equals, partners in crime to–whatever _this_ is. “I fucking hate flowers, they set off my allergies.” Seb pauses to hammer his words home. “I swear you weren’t this much of a pansy when we met.”

The words hurt but Louis jumps off the sofa anyway, desperate to avoid another argument.

“I’m sorry, I was going to move them into my office but I fell asleep.” He ambles forward, still half asleep to place a placating arm on Seb’s elbow. “I didn’t know you’d be home this early.”

Seb scoffs, “Oh so it’s my fault, now?” Seb yanks his tie off aggressively and rolls up his sleeves and it’s obvious now to Louis that he’s come home from the office angry, itching for a fight.

“No, of course not,” Louis attempts to soothe him, running his small hands up Seb’s arms as he continues to bristle. “Do you want me to make you a brew? Relieve some tension?” Louis almost winces at his poor choice of words because it takes Seb so little these days to fly off the handle at any perceived slight.

Seb looks at him straight on before shaking his head, “Nah, I think I need something a little stronger than tea.” He licks his lips menacingly like a guard dog and steps into Louis’ space. With a wicked grin, he shoves his hands down the back of Louis’ jeans to grab his arse, grinding their hips together and crushing his lips to Louis’, and Louis doesn’t protest, doesn’t complain, despite the fact he couldn’t be any less in the mood than when Seb’s in this state. Though, he thinks maybe afterwards, Seb will relax a bit and maybe they can have a beer and watch a movie; maybe Seb won’t bite his head off if he tries to snuggle into him like they used to. As Seb manoeuvres him into the bedroom, Louis’ eyes fix on the offending flowers again, their serene beauty a balm to his discontent.

❀ ❀

The following Saturday, Louis heads down to Portobello Road market, a short walk from the pricey flat they share thanks to Seb’s salary from his job in the Square Mile, the same one that takes him away from Louis, from their life together, and leaves Louis with so much time on his own.

Louis comes to the market almost every weekend when Seb is working, started going when they first moved to London. Even then, Seb mocked him and would never come with him, said he hated tourists, crowds, ‘old shit’, and basically anything whimsical. The buzz of tourists haggling, locals walking their dogs, stalls and shops selling basically anything and everything that can be unloaded onto a pavement made Louis love it then, and now, well, he loves it because amongst the crowds he feels a little less lonely.

He wanders down the road without looking at anything in particular despite the vast array of antiques, clothes, books and bric-a-brac. He always feels a little sad when the bustle of the antique markets give way to the more sparse Ladbroke Grove end with its various food stalls and stands selling more generic things.

“Louis!”

Louis spins around when he hears his name and he feels a flush of warmth flood through him as he realises where the sound is coming from. There again is Harry and his pink van, buckets and buckets of stock dotted around like a floral oasis in the middle of the city.

Harry has his hair up in a loose bun today, little tresses falling out of it as he moves about the stall jauntily, clambering around the little army of buckets to greet Louis with a handshake. Louis is shocked at his forwardness, after all they’ve only met once and said nothing to each other besides pleasant small talk, but he’s pleased nonetheless.

“Hello again,” Louis says affably, well, what counts as affable for him these days. He wonders if Harry would believe him if he told him he used to be a huge chatterbox.

“Come to see me?” Harry teases.

Louis snorts. “That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it? I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow and lowers his eyes smiling, nodding in acknowledgement. “Fair enough, fair enough.” He pauses before lifting his eyes to meet Louis’, muttering softly, “Wishful thinking maybe.”

Louis blushes at the comment. Harry makes him feel like he’s sixteen again and back in Donny, when Connor Elliot bought him a pint and snogged him next to the rubbish bins behind the pub. Although they hadn’t been together then, Seb had found Connor at college the following Monday and punched him in the nose. Louis wonders if he probably should have seen the signs.

“What brings you down here today then? Didn’t think old Portobello would be your scene.” Harry shoves his hands down into the front pockets of his apron. He has a flannel shirt on underneath, unbuttoned at the collar despite the windchill and Louis’ interest is piqued at the little corner of visible skin.

Louis smirks. “Why’s that?”

Harry shrugs. “Well you’re not a tourist, unless you count being down here as a permanent holiday from up north, and you don’t look like you’re a young toff who spends his Sunday eating pastries and taking your Lagotto for a romp on the Heath.”

Louis snorts. “Well you’re not wrong there, no Lagotto. But I do live local.”

Harry grimaces with embarrassment. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

Louis cackles despite himself, “It’s alright, mate. I’m embarrassed for me too.” The banter is nice, gentle.

Harry looks like he wants to ask more questions but Louis heads him off. “Uh, I should probably let you get back,” he gestures with a nod to the stall behind Harry, “Don’t want some old granny making off with your hyacinths.”

Harry nibbles at his lip before tearing his eyes away and Louis thinks even if Harry hadn’t been so obvious about it, the attraction between them is palpable.

Harry leads Louis over to his stall by the elbow and Louis notices the way Harry’s fingers are so gentle. Harry takes his place behind his wrapping-table-come-payment-counter.

“What’ll it be today then? Because I was rude, it’s on me.” 

Louis grins, he didn’t even tell Harry he wanted anything, but then it hits him, and he remembers–

“Uh, actually, I better not.”

Harry looks visibly disappointed but plasters a smile back on his face. “Oh, sure, you’re probably headed somewhere after this, then.”

Louis lowers his eyes and shuffles his feet. It would be just as easy to lie but despite how much he’s enjoying the little bit of flirty banter with Harry, he doesn’t want to. He also can’t lead him on.

“Uh, not that, no. My partner has allergies. He doesn’t like us having flowers in our home.”

He’s nervous to meet Harry’s eyes but he also doesn’t want to appear shifty. “Sorry,” he says.

“That sucks,” Harry says flatly, not hiding his disappointment this time.

Louis purses his lips and nods once. “Yeah, said the smell of the daphne made him sneeze–”

“No,” Harry cuts him off, “I mean, it sucks that you have a partner.”

Louis doesn’t speak.

“How long have you been together?” Harry asks, eyes down, as he straightens the large pile of wrapping paper on the table.

Louis reaches out to fidget with Harry’s metal money box. He clears his throat before answering; it feels like its closing. “Uh, almost a decade. Since college, really. Moved down here together.”

Harry’s smile looks forced when he answers. “Wow, good for you.”

“Yeah, it’s, uh… yeah,” Louis supplies helplessly. “Anyway, I better get going.” Louis pauses for a beat in case Harry has anything else to say, but he doesn’t. “See ya, then.” Louis makes to turn out from under the canopy.

“Hang on,” Harry says as he rushes to a bucket at the front, breaking off a single bloom. “Just because you can’t have a bunch at home, doesn’t mean I can’t give you something, just for you.” Harry tucks the flower into the top pocket of Louis’ jacket, patting over his heart just once.

“What is it?” Louis asks, eyeing the sunny little yellow flower, a bit like a buttercup, “It’s lovely.”

Harry pushes a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles, “It’s a primrose. I got them in this morning, reminded me of you.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, backing away. “I’ll be seeing you.”

❀ ❀

Early afternoon, when Harry’s unloaded the rest of his stock into the backroom in his shop, he finds himself unable to get Louis, the handsome new customer, out of his head. Admittedly, Harry is someone who falls fast and often, a string of torrid but short flings the extent of his relationship history. Not that they’ve been meaningless or shallow by any means, but Harry is someone who enjoys people’s company, loves meeting new people, hearing their stories. It’s part of the reason he loves his shop, and his stall, so much.

But Louis intrigues him. He’s unavailable, that much would have been obvious even if Louis hadn’t told him he was taken. There’s something about him, Harry thinks, that makes him want to dig deeper, find out what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, and the optimist in him wonders if he could make Louis’ smile reach his eyes.

He tidies up his shop; it’s been in the family for fifty years, left to him by a slightly mad great-aunt who recognised his love of all things nature and floral when he was only a small child. Despite the inauspicious provenance though, it’s his happy place and he counts himself lucky that he can pursue his passions rent-free.

When he was a kid, the neighbourhood was unpromising and a bit dingey, but since then Kensal Rise has gone from strength to strength. These days he spends his week selling modern bouquets, terrariums and unique indoor plants to wealthy millennials and middle-aged childless creatives who wear torn jeans and acrylic jewellery. In all honesty, he doesn’t want for much in life and he’s thankful for the privilege to be his own boss and spend his days making beautiful things, but there’s always that little voice in the back of his mind telling him how nice it might be to have someone to share it with.

He makes himself blush just thinking of what it would be like to come home to someone, commit himself to one person properly, share their lives, during the good and the bad, together. He thinks to Louis, in a relationship for ten years and he’s not even thirty. It boggles his mind a little bit but he also reasons that the guy who found Louis way back when they were basically kids probably knew he’d found someone pretty special. But then again, he thinks, if Louis’ living a life of domestic bliss, why does he seem to look so sad?

“What’s got you so pensive?” Nick asks, wandering into the backroom. He’s completely hidden by a bucket of huge magnolia branches and Harry chuckles because he looks a bit like a walking tree.

Nick’s one of the hook-ups who he refused to let go despite the fact their relationship has been platonic now for a lot longer than it was ever romantic.

Harry takes the bucket from his arms and puts it in the walk-in cool room.

“Do you think it’s time I settled down?”

Nick snorts as if he’s never heard Harry say anything so foolish.

“Babe, whatever for? You’re young, you’re gorgeous, you’re your own boss, the world is your oyster. Why would you want to give all that up to enter a long-term relationship? Before long, you stop caring, stop having sex, think it’s acceptable to eat pot noodle on the sofa in your rattiest knickers, and then you die. They’ve done studies, love.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Just because that’s your experience…” he trails off to smirk at Nick, who picks up a block of floral foam and chucks it at his head.

Nick walks over and leans against the bench beside him. “What’s brought this on?”

Harry shrugs, he’s not sure he wants to share Louis just yet, not that there’s anything to share; they’ve met twice, Harry was embarrassingly forward, Louis was one hundred percent uninterested, and for no reason he can discern, it’s got Harry questioning his life choices.

“Nothing,” he replies, a smile emerging on his lips, “just thinking I don’t want to be left on the shelf, like you.”

Nick goes wide-eyed with amused horror but before he can speak, Harry sweeps him into a big hug. “Just messing with you, old man. You know that if I was going to be with anyone long term, it could only be you.”

They both know he’s joking but Nick gives him a big loud smack of a kiss on the cheek nonetheless. He brushes the hair from Harry’s forehead affectionately. “You know I’ll support you in whatever you choose, babe. And if you want that, then I’m more than happy to help you get out there and start hunting.”

And Harry appreciates his words but his mind doesn’t let him picture anyone new, except for Louis.

❀ ❀

Today, Louis thinks, Harry looks fresh as the proverbial daisy, his hair loose about his shoulders and he’s wearing a slouchy lavender sweater, the colour of, well… lavender. His cheeks are pink from the brisk morning air and he looks so at home among the bustle and throng of the market. Louis watches him for a few moments before approaching, admires the way his eyes light up when an elderly lady asks him to choose her the best bunch of freesias, the way he kneels to speak to a little boy at eye-level who’s buying a pink rose, probably for a classmate who he calls his girlfriend. 

“Me again,” Louis says as he approaches. Harry has his head in the back of the Kombi fishing out armfuls of baby’s breath and purple chrysanthemum.

“Well, well,” Harry says, “I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

It’s Sunday and Louis is back at the Ladbroke Grove Farmer’s market. Seb promised him they’d go out for dinner the night before but when Louis left the house at nine this morning he still wasn’t home. 

“Oh?” Louis asks. Seb’s absence makes him feel bold, and he’s decided that, for god’s sake, just because he’s with someone doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy a bit of harmless flirting.

Harry looks around and lowers his voice to avoid his other customers hearing. “I’m sorry if I was a little… forward the other day. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Louis feels his heart sink slightly. It’s not that Harry’s words are untrue, he was a little taken aback by Harry’s enthusiasm, but more than anything, he’s saddened that even a complete stranger can detect his fragility. He misses his old self but that guy feels like a distant memory. He was never a huge flirt, never needed the skill, after all he’s never been single and out at the same time, but he had enough game that he didn’t need fit guys apologising to him for putting the moves on.

Louis tries to look relaxed about the whole thing. “Don’t be silly, mate. No harm done.” He gives Harry one of his trademark devilish grins, the same smile that Seb says made him fall in love with him. He hasn’t used it on anyone in a long time but he knows it rarely fails to get him what he wants, even though he doesn’t know what that is.

Harry smiles at Louis’ attention and lowers his eyes, nodding once. He wipes his hands on his apron and Louis thinks it’s probably something he does when he’s nervous. The idea of Harry nervous around him makes him Louis smile back and they stand smiling at each other for a few seconds, in their own little world, before Louis breaks the spell.

“So, you going to offer to help me with some flowers, or…” Louis smirks. They’re both very much aware that there’s something between them.

Harry bobs slightly on his long legs, huffing out an embarrassed laugh. “Definitely. What’s the occasion? The boyfriend come around?”

Louis’ purses his lips at the mention of Seb.

“Nah,” he says awkwardly; it’s not like Seb’s ever come around to anything once he’s formulated a view on it, not that Harry’s to know that. “These are for my mum.”

Harry’s shoulders visibly loosen and he happily drags Louis by the hand over to a corner of the stall.

“I got these amazing variegated dahlias at the flower market this morning… does your mum like dahlias?” Harry raves enthusiastically, “What colours does she like? I also have some gardenias, but they’re a bit smaller, and plenty of hydrangeas, of course… How about I make her a quick bouquet?”

Louis shuffles his feet as Harry yanks stems from one bucket, a frond from another, a branch of eucalyptus from another still and fusses artfully with the selection of cuttings in his large hand.

“Does she like roses? Some people think roses are a bit naff…” he scrunches his face, pulling some of the dahlias up so they peep out from their verdant little cushion of foliage.

Louis clears his throat awkwardly. “My mum’s passed away. So… these are for her grave.” He cringes as Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “But that looks lovely,” he supplies hurriedly, an apologetic look on his face.

Harry drops the hand holding the bouquet to his side and he looks totally bereft.

“Oh my god, Louis, I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot, I–”

Louis reaches an arm up to clasp Harry’s shoulder. Harry softens at the touch but keeps his eyes low.

“No, don’t be silly, you weren’t to know.” He offers Harry a shy smile to let him know he’s not upset. “It was a long time ago. Honestly, it’s fine.”

Harry’s shoulders loosen a little. “God, even if I had a chance with you, I’d be ruining them all,” he mutters, then, “Oh god, I was meant to stop being so forward–” he looks at Louis weakly.

Louis snorts with laughter. “Seriously mate, calm down, I’m not that great. Anyway, I’ll take those, they’re beautiful. I’m not lying when I say she would have absolutely loved them.”

Harry nods and brushes Louis off when he opens his wallet to pay and Louis takes the flowers from Harry’s arms. “I’ll let you get back to it, then.” Customers are building up and Harry throws Louis one final smile before racing off to whip around to each person to give them a hand.

Louis watches for a few moments, pretending to be transfixed by a large white dahlia in his bouquet. He thinks about his mum and how happy she was that he’d found happiness with Seb so young. He wonders what she’d think if she knew how distant they are now.

“Hey, Harry,” Louis says before he can overthink what he’s about to say, “do you maybe want to come with me? To visit my mum, I mean.” He nudges a bucket at his foot shyly. “Don’t feel like you have to, but–”

“I’d love to,” Harry blurts out in reply.

“This afternoon then? Will you be done by three?”

❀ ❀

Later that afternoon, they walk through the rows at the cemetery before Louis pauses in front of a gleaming granite headstone, Harry trailing respectfully. When Harry reads the engraved words, he notes Louis was right, it looks like it happened a fair while ago.

“She was young,” Harry says sadly.

Louis nods. “I was twenty-one. It was all pretty sudden, I was still at uni, in Sheffield.”

“Is that where you’re from then?” Harry asks softly.

Louis scrunches up his face in amusement, “You’ve just been dying to ask, haven’t you?”

Harry shrugs dopily. “Maybe.” He doesn’t say that he wants to know _everything_ about Louis.

“Doncaster,” Louis supplies before squatting to place the flowers at the base. “Do you want to say anything?” Harry asks after Louis’ been crouching, resting an affectionate hand on the cool granite, for a few moments. “I’m happy to listen.”

Louis looks up at him with a fond expression. “Nah I’m good, I don’t need to be here to talk to her. But thank you.”

Afterwards, they wander the streets aimlessly. It’s a lovely afternoon, and the sun’s out although it’s cool.

“So, what do you do, Louis Tomlinson?” Harry had insisted they trade last names, said they couldn’t be proper friends if he didn’t even know Louis’ full name.

“Um, so, I’m trying to get my novel published, but it’s slow going.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot-up, “You’re a _writer_? I never would have guessed!”

Louis rolls his eyes affably. “I’ve heard that before.”

Harry chuckles. He has to deliberately slow his walk for Louis to keep up and he finds it utterly endearing. “Yeah, I would have said something less arty, like…finance, or a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Louis snorts, “are you kidding me?”

“Hang on, hang on,” Harry backtracks, turning to take a purposeful look at Louis, “no, I can see it now. More than just a pretty face, even.”

Louis smarts, “Are you calling me thick, Styles?” He _tsks_ reproachfully and Harry throws his hands in the air in bemused frustration.

“Oh my god, I honestly don’t know what it is about you, I just keep saying dumb stuff and making myself look like a total twat.”

Harry hopes Louis is at least a little charmed by the way Louis makes him act totally stupid. Before he can embarrass himself further, Louis throws him a bone. “If it makes you feel any better, I did finance for a bit before I changed degrees, but it wasn’t for me. Seb kept it up though, that’s why we moved to London, he got a graduate job in the one of the big firms after uni.”

“Seb,” Harry tries the name out on his tongue. He tries to picture what kind of guy would be enough for Louis–delightful, interesting Louis–to devote his life to him, but Harry’s mind renders absolutely nothing. “What’s he like?”

“What’s he like, or what’s he look like?” Louis asks, smiling dryly.

Harry shrugs. He’s not even jealous, not really, he just wants to know as much as he can about Louis’ life.

“Tough. Very northern,” Louis laughs. “He’s fiercely determined. Really, really driven. Kind of scary how strongminded he can be sometimes.”

“I get the impression you can be a little like that too, right?” Harry teases, catching Louis’ reaction out of the corner of his eye, and Louis gives him a little shove when they make eye contact. “_Oi_,” Louis says in objection.

Louis continues, “When I was younger, I loved that quality in him so much, like he had a plan, he was going to get out of Donny if it killed him and make it in the big city.” He huffs out a weak laugh, “Sometimes I think I was part of his grand plan too, something to tick off his checklist. To be honest, I don’t think he would have taken no for an answer, although I was arse over tit in love with him anyway. But that was then…” he trails off quietly.

“And now?” Harry asks, knowing he’s pushing his luck, but Louis sharing parts of himself like this is too good to pass up.

Louis shrugs and Harry can sense Louis’ walls going up again. “Ten years, you know. Things change.”

Louis rakes his hand through his hair and Harry has begun to recognise the gesture as something Louis does to reset himself.

Harry wants so desperately for Louis to keep talking about himself, so he presses on, changing the subject. “Tell me about your writing. If you want.”

Louis groans. “It’s going. I used to work in the media actually, journalist, but I quit a year or so ago to write my novel, only I haven’t made much progress. Seb makes enough for me to stay at home, and like, I’m so grateful, but I don’t know if I’ve really found my voice yet. Or rather, my main character’s voice. I think maybe sometimes it’s harder being out of the workforce, trying to recall scenes from real life, like it can be a bit isolating…” he trails off again, looking sheepish. “Oh god, I’m sorry for dumping all this personal crap on you.” Louis looks genuinely awkward and Harry feels for him. He wonders if Louis has any outlet for this stuff.

Harry’s expression softens as he says, “It’s ok. I mean, I’m a florist, so I write a lot of emotional cards, congratulations, declarations of love, apologies… I’m very used to this stuff.” He’s making a joke but it’s a gentle one.

Louis laughs and the awkwardness is gone. They walk a little further in comfortable silence.

“You said you also have a shop, then?” Louis asks, and Harry’s ecstatic to be able to talk about it.

“I do. It’s just me and my mate Nick, and my sister Gemma helps out a couple of shifts a week around her actual job. Sometimes I even pay her,” he adds cheekily. “I dunno, I just love it. It’s something so simple, flowers, but the way people’s faces light up when you make them something so pure and beautiful that they can enjoy themselves, or share with others, it’s pretty magical.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you, mate?” Louis snickers but he’s not making fun of him.

Harry pretends to be offended, “I don’t think buying your partner flowers is romantic, I think it’s a bloody necessity!” He feels bad as soon as he opens his mouth, knowing its unlikely Louis’ received flowers from Seb recently. He can’t help but wonder if Seb compensates for it in any other ways.

Harry shrugs. “Anyway, you might be surprised, I’ve not had the best luck in love, I suppose.”

“Oh?” Louis looks at him quizzically.

Harry rolls his eyes, chuckling, “We can’t all meet the loves of our lives at sixteen, Louis.”

❀ ❀

Louis thinks about Harry’s words as he unlocks the door to their flat. Despite his lack of long-term relationships, he thinks Harry might understand more about caring for another person than he gives himself credit for. He smiles to himself, remembering the gorgeous way Harry’s face dimpled when Louis made him laugh, great big joyous grooves appearing in his cheeks. He’s ashamed a man other than his partner has made him feel like this, but it’s been so long since someone made him feel heard, _special_, that it’s a quiet little thrill between the two of them, and it’s not hurting anyone.

“Where have you been?” comes Seb’s voice from the sofa. Just from the sound of it, Louis can tell he’s a couple of lagers deep.

“Went to see my mum,” Louis says, shucking his jacket and toeing off his shoes before plopping down on the couch beside Seb.

Seb gives him a long look and Louis can’t tell if he’s raring to fuck or fight. Maybe both, Louis thinks.

“What, all day?”

Louis shrugs but he doesn’t answer the question. “When did you get home?”

Seb sneers but he doesn’t answer either and Louis knows he’s making a point.

Louis rolls his eyes, tired of arguing when nothing ever changes. “We had plans last night. You didn’t even call, I was worried.”

Seb shifts on the sofa; his legs are resting on the coffee table and he spreads them to nudge at Louis with his knee.

“I’m sorry, ok? I’ll remember next time. Don’t have a strop.” He squeezes Louis’ ankle, and Louis’ frustrated but he’s also starved for affection, and after his revealing afternoon with Harry he just wants Seb to stop telling him off and just show him he loves him.

“Do you want dinner?” Seb asks.

Louis moves from his spot on the other side of the sofa and climbs into Seb’s lap, grabbing Seb’s hands to place them on his arse. He brackets his arms on either side of Seb’s head, hands gripping the back of the sofa and he leans down to Seb’s ear to whisper, “Actually, I think I have a better idea.”

Seb rubs his hands up Louis thighs a few times, lets Louis push his tongue into his mouth just long enough to get Louis going. Louis has his hands at the base of his Seb’s t-shirt, about to rip it off him before Seb lifts him off unceremoniously, wandering off to the kitchen to call for Chinese, Louis left alone and wanting.

“Come back here, I want to fuck!” Louis calls.

“I’m not in the mood,” Seb replies and Louis knows he’s lying, because he’s always in the mood, only tonight Seb just prefers to punish him.

❀ ❀

The following week, Harry potters about the shop with Nick. They’ve only got a few jobs on the list, as well as some ordering to do for an upcoming wedding.

“Alright, out with it,” Nick says when he catches Harry staring dreamily into a pink rose for the third time today. “Who is he?”

Harry shakes his head, snapping out of it. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

But Nick’s not stupid–Harry always falls hard like this, becoming dopey-eyed and infatuated before it fizzles out and he moves onto the next.

Nick gives him a cynical look and puts down the stem he’s trimming the leaves from.

Harry sighs loudly and relents, “Ok, fine, but you have to promise you won’t judge.”

Nick raises and eyebrow but nods.

“He’s a customer. I met him at Ladbroke, then he came by again. Last weekend, we got to talking and he invited me to go visit his mum’s grave.” Harry pauses to gauge Nick’s reaction but Nick doesn’t give anything away.

“Romantic of him,” Nick supplies sarcastically, and Harry gives him a reproachful look.

Nick waves his hand dismissively. “Go on,” he says. 

“And we just, like, walked around talking and flirting and like, he’s totally gorgeous.” Harry says the last part a bit breathlessly.

Nick gives him a once-over as if he can sense there’s more. “…But?”

Harry sighs again because Nick can read him like a book. “He’s with someone.” Harry’s voice goes up at the end, like he’s asking a question, asking for approval.

Nick’s eyes go wide and Harry winces before he even speaks. “Harry, no. No way, no.”

“I know,” Harry whines, “ok, I _know_. But we’re not doing anything, we’re just hanging out a bit. I know nothing’s going to happen.”

Despite Harry’s reassurances, Nick shakes his head disapprovingly. “But this guy is flirting with you?”

Harry squirms uncomfortably and wipes his hands on his apron. “I mean,” he pauses, not wanting to hear the truth from his own mouth, “not really… it’s mainly me flirting, I guess.” He lowers his eyes shamefully. “He just seems to enjoy my company. I think he’s lonely.”

Nick loses his patience then. “Fucking hell, Harry, he’s not a lost puppy. It’s weird that he’s stalking you if he’s unavailable.” Nick’s just being protective, after all, Harry’s gotten into trouble like this before with his passionate heart and giving soul, but it doesn’t stop Harry feeling like he’s being scolded, like a child.

“He’s not _stalking_ me, Jesus. He’s come by like, three times. I think he needs a friend, I’m allowed to be his friend, aren’t I?” Harry puts his hands on his hips and Nick sighs.

“Of course you can be his friend, H. I just want you to be sure that’s all he wants, because getting involved with someone in a relationship, it’s bad news.”

Harry loves weddings, adores them, likes nothing more than executing a floral vision that just adds so much beauty and romance to the bride and groom’s, or brides’ and grooms’, special day. But today, as he does his ordering, he just feel sad and a little self-pitying. It’s fanciful, he knows, but the way Louis makes him feel means he can’t help but think there’s something there, something real. Despite the flirting, and despite Nick’s apprehension, he has no intention of making a move–he may be a sap but he’s not a homewrecker. Nick’s words just hammered the cold reality home, that he and Louis have no chance at all.

Later that week, Harry is surprised when Louis walks into the shop, the little bell above the door tinkling in celebration.

“Hey, stranger,” he says as Louis approaches the counter. Harry’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of him, it’s warmer today and Louis is wearing a knit sweater, no jacket, sleeves rolled up. “Couldn’t wait until the weekend?” he asks slyly.

Louis just shrugs, smiling, lifting his eyes to the ceiling as if to say, _maybe_.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos!” Harry says enthusiastically, and it makes his heart beat a little faster. On the surface, Louis looks gentle and soft with his small curvy body and shy smile; _twinky_, although Harry doesn’t like the term. But the tattoos are just more evidence that he’s so much more to Louis than meets the eye, so much that Harry’s eager to explore.

Louis stretches his arms out in front of him, twisting them around so Harry can have a good look. There’s a few larger pieces, a dagger, an arrow, a bird, as well as an assortment of cute little scribbles. Harry thinks they speak to a Louis who doesn’t take himself too seriously, one he’s only seen occasional glimmers of.

“When did you get these?” He asks, grabbing Louis above his right wrist so he can inspect the smaller pieces of ink, among them, adorably, a cup of tea.

Louis smiles wryly, “Indiscretions of my youth, I guess.” He doesn’t provide any more details but Harry’s dying to ask. “I saw you had a few of your own,” Louis adds, and Harry blushes even though it’s not like Louis’ specifically been looking, they’re just impossible not to notice.

“I have a lot more that you haven’t seen,” Harry blurts out before he can catch himself; once again, Louis just makes him say the stupidest things, but Louis doesn’t look taken aback this time.

His eyes darken as his gaze flits to Harry’s hand where it’s still touching his skin. His voice only a breathy whisper, he says, “Maybe you’ll have to show them to me sometime.”

Harry blushes pink at Louis’ words and he thinks, despite his earlier convictions, he might have propositioned him right there if it wasn’t for the loud throat-clearing Nick does behind him.

At the sound, Louis yanks his arm away as if scalded, shoving his hands into his pockets where they can’t get into any more mischief.

Nick strides over to stand beside Harry behind the counter. “Are you going to introduce us, Harry?”

Harry blushes horribly and he lowers his eyes to avoid making eye contact with either of them. “Uh Nick, this is Louis.” Louis extends a hand and Nick spies him suspiciously before shaking it. “The one I was telling you about,” Harry adds, before realising his mistake.

Louis looks at him with the same smouldering eyes as before, the corners of his mouth turning up in amusement when he sees how embarrassed Harry is. “You’ve been talking about me, eh?” Harry purses his lips but this time, he can’t tear his eyes away from Louis’.

Nick coughs again to break the spell between them and says haughtily, “Nice to meet you, Louis.”

“You too, mate,” Louis replies, his eyes flitting cursorily to Nick.

Nick checks Harry gently with his hip and it feels like a warning. “Can we help you with anything, Louis?”

Louis bobs on the spot a little and Harry loves Nick but he wants nothing more than for him to disappear.“I was wondering if you had time to do something?”

Harry can see Louis’ own cheeks heating up as Nick’s eyes bore into him judgmentally. “I would have called but I don’t have your number.” Louis shrugs apologetically.

“We’re actually a bit busy here, aren’t we, Harry?” Nick interjects, staring daggers at Harry.

Harry looks sheepish but he says, “I’m just going to pop out for a bit.” He sees Louis try and disguise a smile. Feeling guilty, Harry adds, “That’ll be alright, won’t it? We’re not even that busy.”

Nick glares at the both of them. “Make it quick, we have pick-ups this afternoon.”

When Harry’s ripped off his apron and undone his hair, he steps out with Louis into the sunshine. They make their way down the high street and Louis’ lost all his boldness, gone quiet again. They walk in silence for a bit, just enjoying being near each other, before Louis finally speaks.

“I don’t know what came over me then, sorry. I hope I haven’t made things weird with your colleague.”

Harry snorts. “Colleague? Nah, Nick just likes to look after me.”

Louis nods. “You told him about me?” he asks shyly, looking up to glance at Harry.

Harry winces, “Sorry about that. He really dumped me in it, didn’t he?”

“What’d you tell him?” Louis slows to a stop and Harry really doesn’t want to answer but Louis’ waiting for him, literally waiting until he answers to resume walking.

“Uh,” Harry mumbles, looking at the patch of pavement between them, “just that we hung out the other day.”

Louis nods again but he’s not satisfied. “That all?” he asks softly.

Harry looks at him pleadingly and they’re just standing in the middle of the street staring at each other until Harry caves. “I told him I’d made a right idiot of myself but for some reason, you seemed to not mind my company.”

“He’s not wrong,” Louis supplies, and Harry feels weak at the knees.

He gulps, he knows he’s entering dangerous territory but for a reason he can’t understand, Louis makes him want to spill his guts. “He warned me away from you. Said I’d probably get my heart broken.”

Louis reaches out to take Harry’s hand. They’re still just standing in the middle of the footpath, passers-by glaring at them as they have to skirt around.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat as Louis takes a small step forward. They’re still a respectable distance away from each other but close enough that Louis has to bend his neck upwards to look into Harry’s eyes.

Louis licks his lips nervously, his eyes never leaving Harry’s before he whispers, “If I could, I would… just so you know.”

Harry doesn’t move, despite feeling like his legs are going to buckle beneath him.

❀ ❀

Louis doesn’t even feel guilty as he stares blankly at his reflection in the window of the Tube, taking the Bakerloo line the few stops from Harry’s shop to Paddington Station; he’s not done anything really, just acknowledged the attraction is mutual, even if he has absolutely no intention to act on it. However, his skin sings where it remembers Harry’s touch, innocent and gentle but with a promise of so much more. He feels electric, buzzing, as he unlocks his door.

Entering the flat, he’s surprised to see Seb there, after all, it’s only four o’clock on a Tuesday and Seb’s usually at work for at least another few hours.

“Hey, babe,” Seb says and he’s in the kitchen, shirtless and sweaty as if he’s just finished a workout. He sips his water, eyeing Louis wolfishly and Louis doesn’t know if he hates him for being a smug bastard or if he wants to jump his bones, get him to fuck him silly so he can feel something other than the phantom sensation of Harry’s fingers entwined with his.

“What have you been up to today?” Seb asks and at least today, there’s no trace of malice. Louis _knows_ Seb likes him home and pining for him like a fifties housewife but today, Louis has no patience for it.

“Don’t pretend you care,” Louis says and Seb sneers like it’s all a game.

Louis walks into the kitchen to join him; taking Seb’s water bottle out of his hand, he takes a sip. Placing it back on the counter, he licks his lips and strips off his sweater and his shirt in one. Seb’s eyes rake over his naked chest and despite the drink, he looks thirstier now than when Louis first walked in. Louis steps in close, his hands on Seb’s pecs, rising onto his toes to whisper in his ear.

“I’ll be in the shower, suggest you join me.”

Louis’ already hard with anticipation when Seb opens the shower door to step in behind him. He crowds Louis up against the tiled wall, hogging the spray for himself. Seb grips at Louis’ hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh at the curve of his arse and Louis palms at his dick to give himself some relief.

“You’re so hot for me, aren’t you babe,” Seb growls in his ear, “I can just see how bad you want it.”

Louis whimpers, arching his back, leaning forward to press his cheek into the cold tile. He squeezes his eyes shut but when he does it’s not Seb he sees but Harry, green eyes shining, warm smile inviting. He’s hot and he’s impatient and pushes himself back off the wall to grind back against Seb’s stiffening dick where its nestled between his cheeks. 

“Fuck, babe,” Seb says and Louis gets a sick sense of satisfaction from the husky croak of his voice because Seb’s turned on too, the only time Louis has the upper hand. “You just can’t wait for my cock, can you? Gagging for it, hm?”

Louis groans; he’s in no mood for talking but Seb won’t stop. Seb mouths at his neck, whispering filthy things in his ear but Louis just leans his head back onto Seb’s shoulder, hair plastered on his forehead, panting wordlessly in agreement.

Seb ducks out of the shower to grab the lube, slicking up his fingers and getting them into Louis in short shrift. Louis gasps, the stretch is too much too soon but the burn is a searing reminder that it’s Seb, and it’s his punishment for wishing it was someone else.

His eyes water as Seb fucks him in slow thrusts, long and deep. Despite his misgivings, his body is traitorously responsive, his legs quivering and his dick dripping as Seb hits his sweet spot, over and over. Seb still grips his hips unnecessarily hard but when he leans forward to kiss and lick at the droplets of water on Louis’ shoulders, Louis doesn’t know if he loves the small amount of affection Seb offers him or if he just wants Seb to fuck him roughly until he comes, fucked-stupid and resentful.

Louis decides it’s the former, pulling off him to spin around in his arms, and Seb lunges at him to kiss him, hands planted on the wall on either side of his face. Seb reaches up to tilt the shower head so it sprays Louis’ body with hot water, warming his bones, and Seb mouths at his chest and neck before kneeling to the shower floor to suck his dick.

After that, Louis can’t think anything at all, the space in his brain for thought taken up entirely by feeling, and he’s feeling everything so keenly. Seb moans around his dick, pulling off with a pop only to loop one of Louis legs over his shoulder and when Seb unceremoniously shoves three fingers back inside him, Louis feels like he’s going to melt into liquid, be washed down the drain.

“Gonna come,” Louis mumbles, rendered completely useless by Seb’s expert fingers and hot mouth.

At his words, Seb stands and pulls Louis to his chest, wrapping the same leg around his hip and lifting him off his feet. It’s hard work but Seb’s strong and he gets his dick into him again, fucking him in short sharp stabs where Louis’ wedged between him and the wall. This time, Seb doesn’t take his mouth off him, kissing his lips, sucking at his collarbones, and Louis feels like he’s going to faint from the heat, and from his heart sending a disproportionate amount of blood to his dick.

Seb comes inside him with a loud grunt and despite the fact that Louis hates when he does that, he can’t even be mad at him because before he knows it, he’s coming too, hot spurts being washed away by the shower before they can settle on his skin.

When their breathing has returned to normal, still in the shower, Seb pulls Louis into his arms and strokes his hair, but instead of feeling cherished and loved like he’d hoped, the whole experience just leaves him feeling empty. When they get out, Louis blinks back tears as Seb towels off, no longer even looking at him.

Afterwards, Seb’s settled on the couch with a beer, hair wet and work laid out in front of him on the coffee table and Louis lingers in the kitchen, unsure of what to do. He pulls out his phone where Harry coyly punched in his number earlier, and despite saying he wouldn’t, he can’t stop his fingers dancing over the keys. He types out a casual, _what are you up to?_

❀ ❀

Harry leans over the counter of the shop, his features fixed into a self-satisfied grin. Louis texted him out of the blue a few days ago, and since then it’s been aimless banter and playful jokes, talk about everything and nothing. But Nick’s displeased.

“I can see what you’re doing!” Nick calls from the cool-room.

Harry purses his lips as the ellipsis appears, indicating Louis’ about to say something, but he sighs and shoves his phone into the front pocket of his apron.

“There’s nothing to see, Grimshaw, now butt out!”

Nick walks into the front of the shop. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he asks chidingly.

“Maybe…” Harry replies, trying to be cute, but failing to make Nick smile.

Nick sighs. “We talked about this.” He puts his hands on his hips to make his point.

Harry spins around to lean with the counter at his back. “Grimmy please,” he begs. Way back when they dated, Nick never failed to fall for this act.

Nick’s face softens and Harry piles it on, looping long arms over Nick’s shoulders. Nick turns his head to the side, trying to stop himself from smiling, trying to remain stern so Harry takes this seriously, but failing miserably. Nick puts his hands on Harry’s arms and looks into his eyes, genuine now.

"Oh, turn it up,” Nick snickers, and Harry leans in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Serious now?” Harry asks and Nick nods. “I don’t know what to do.”

Nick sighs again and Harry knows even though he’s hopeless, he knows Nick only wants to see him happy.

“You’ve already fallen for him, haven’t you?” Nick asks but its barely a question. Harry nods into Nick’s neck. “Like…” Nick starts, and Harry just replies with a soft, “Yeah.”

Harry pulls out of the crook of Nick’s neck but doesn’t move away. “Like I know it’s stupid, we’ve only hung out a couple of times, but I just feel like, if things were different, we might really be something.”

Nick looks into his eyes and smiles softly. “Oh, babe,” he says sympathetically, “how does he feel about you?”

Harry swallows, he doesn’t know if he should tell the truth, knowing Nick will judge him, but he needs to tell someone even if Nick tells him the truth he doesn’t want to hear.

“He said he would if he could.” Harry hangs his head, he’s ashamed that he and Louis even had that conversation. Harry waits while Nick thinks for a moment; after all, he’s older, but Harry has no idea if he’s ever been in this situation.

“Haz,” Nick starts slowly, “you know I only want the best for you. But I think you should stop seeing him.”

Harry stills in his arms. “But we’re friends–” he says although it’s not strictly true, “I want to be his friend. He needs a friend, I think.”

Nick rubs his arm gently, “Sure babe, but if he really needs a friend, he probably needs a friend who doesn’t create more drama by wanting to sleep with him.”

Harry pulls out of Nick’s arms, then, lowering his eyes. “Harsh.”

Nick sighs impatiently, “Haz, you know I’m right.”

And Harry _does_ know but he wants to be selfish with Louis, wants to prove Nick wrong, wants to be with Louis, even if it’s just as friends, even though he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t stop those feelings creeping through.

Nick returns his hands to his hips. “You don’t know anything about this guy. People get into real trouble with this stuff, Harry, they end up hurt. And I don’t just mean emotionally.”

Harry’s thought about this too, after all, the whole reason Harry’s made this thing with Louis acceptable in his mind is because Seb doesn’t sound like a good guy. Still, he can’t shake Louis from his mind.

“But–” Harry starts, but Nick talks over him.

“Love,” Nick says gently, “unless they break up, there’s no way this thing between the two of you is happening in a way that ends well. And even if they do break up, do you really want to be the responsible for ending a ten-year relationship? What kind of start is that for the two of you?”

Harry looks out the window of the shop onto the street, breath shaking; Nick’s right, of course he is. He’s just going to have to bite the bullet and do it.

❀ ❀

Louis doesn’t come to Portobello Road, the Ladbroke stall or the shop for another two weeks and Harry thinks maybe his worry was all for nothing, despite the pit of hurt in his stomach. After the second weekend without a visit to his stall, he texts Louis.

_Haven’t seen you around for a few, everything ok? _

Harry waits, watching the screen for a few moments before giving up and returning to his work, dejected. An hour later, he feels the tell-tale buzz in his pocket, yanking his phone out eagerly. It’s from Louis.

_Yeah mate, just been bit busy on the w’ends. How’s things with you? _

Harry sighs, disappointed. He hadn’t imagined it, Louis had as much as _told_ him he was interested, but like Nick said, it was stupid sitting around hoping things would just magically change. Harry contemplates sending a rather pitiful _I’ve missed you_ but he pulls himself together, replying with a meaningless platitude that doesn’t come near to saying all the things he really wants to.

Louis doesn’t reply and Harry tries to put Louis to the back of his mind. Only, that night, just before bed, Louis sends him another message.

_Thought I should keep my distance, put the brakes on a bit, y’know? _

Harry’s breath catches in his throat when he reads it. Although Louis’ absence makes him sad, regretful, Louis acknowledging so plainly that there was something there between them, _growing_, sends a little shiver up his spine. He doesn’t know what to say to Louis now, nervous and tongue-tied but also excited; he can throw caution to the wind and jump, or he can step back from the cliff.

Being the desperate romantic that he is, he chooses the first option, typing out the message before he can change his mind.

_I can’t stop thinking about you._

The speech bubble appears, then disappears, then there it is again. Harry grips his phone tight in his fingers. Then Louis’ message pops up; it’s short and when he reads it, Harry’s chest tightens painfully and he feels like he’s going to choke.

_Me too._

❀ ❀

Despite his message about keeping his distance, the following Sunday, Louis shows up at the farmer’s market. Harry does a double-take when he wanders to stand by the Kombi, assumedly so they can speak away from the customers, in private.

When the current raft of customers dissipates, Harry walks over. He tries to maintain his composure but after their conversation, and no communication since, Harry’s jumping out of his skin. Louis looks up at him as they stand close, leaning against the truck, and Harry reaches a hand out just to finger at Louis’ sleeve.

“How have you been?” Harry asks, voice a nervous whisper.

Louis shrugs with a sad smile but he doesn’t say anything.

Harry speaks again, “I wondered if like, you guys had been spending more time at home.” He so desperately wants to know if Louis’ absence is because he’s been trying to make things work with Seb but he doesn’t want to be so transparent as to ask. It seems pathetic somehow, but he needs to know that Louis wants him, even if it’s just a little bit.

Thankfully, Louis has the mercy to answer the question Harry didn’t actually ask. “I wanted to see you, I really did.”

What they’re doing doesn’t feel like cheating but he knows it’s so close, on the cusp, that there’s really no excuse. It’s a heart-wrenching effort to step out of Louis’ orbit but he manages it with a shaky breath. Harry wipes his hands on his apron. “Lou, we can’t do this.”

Louis raises a hand to squeeze at his eyes and nods. “Yeah,” he says.

Unable to help himself, Harry gives his shoulder a squeeze, stroking down his upper arm as he pulls his hand away. “I better get back to work.” He smiles apologetically but Louis’ mouth is set.

“I actually wanted to buy something,” Louis says, “if that’s ok.” He offers Harry a small smile and Harry’s eyes widen.

“Oh my god, the peonies, I got some this morning, I kept them in the truck just in case, come see.” In his excitement, he pulls Louis to follow him to peer inside the truck. For a moment, they’re hidden by the truck’s open rear doors. Harry pulls a single silky bloom out of the bucket, gazing at it lovingly, the petals organised in some kind of exquisite chaos and he marvels at nature’s perfect creation.

Louis’ gaze shifts from the flower to Harry’s face and Louis holds his breath as Harry touches it to his cheek before releasing one long unsteady exhale. “Harry…” he whispers, closing his eyes, the petals soft but a poor substitute for Harry’s touch.

Louis grabs Harry’s hand where its raised to his face and presses an almost imperceptible kiss to the inside of his wrist. Harry melts into the touch and he stops himself just short of stroking Louis’ face. His mind immediately goes to what Louis’ lips would feel like on his.

After what feels like an age but must only be seconds, Louis steps away again. “Maybe next time,” he says, and Harry doesn’t miss the way he doesn’t specify whether he means the contact, or the peonies.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. That single, gentle moment enough to send the blood coursing through his body at pace; his cheeks are flushed and he’s glad he’s wearing an apron to cover the evidence. He shoves his hands into the front pockets to give his hands something to do and rocks back on his heels, smiling awkwardly, “So, what can I get you?”

A few minutes later, Louis walks away with armfuls of sunflowers, for what, Harry didn’t ask and Louis didn’t say. As he watches him go though, Harry can’t help but feel like Louis’ taken a little bit of his heart with him.

❀ ❀

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” Seb barks when he walks in, eyeing the giant bunch, set in a vase on the kitchen bench.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis says stubbornly from the living room although Seb’s absolutely right. “Didn’t really know when you’d be home, so I thought, if you’re going to do whatever the hell you want, I may as well too,” he adds, unable to keep the act going.

Seb dumps his satchel down on the counter and snorts dismissively. “You _what_?”

Louis feels the heat rising to his cheeks; it incenses him that Seb’s reaction to him standing up for himself is not anger, but derision. Things weren’t always this way.

“You heard me,” Louis says.

“What’s gotten into you?” Seb asks, ripping the tie from his neck in the aggressive way Louis knows so well.

“Nothing.” Louis pouts.

Seb sneers, “Giving up already?”

Louis whips around, body wrought with anger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Seb chuckles, untucking his shirt out of his waistband. “Come on babe, let me see what you’ve got.”

Louis grits his teeth; Seb’s mocking him. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re angry,” he says.

Louis sighs, Seb has this may of making him feel totally powerless but he’s so, _so_ sick of it. “I don’t need you, you know.”

That wipes the smile of Seb’s face until the corners of his mouth turn up in an evil smile, his voice dripping with scorn. “Oh honey, is this what this is all about?” he asks with faux concern. He walks over to lean over Louis where he’s seated on the sofa. “You sick of being a kept little woman?”

Louis moves to stand but Seb shoves his back in his seat with a hand to his shoulder. “_Sit_ down.”

“What do you think you’d do, hm? Without all this, without me?”

Louis fish-mouths. It’s not like he’s useless, he has a degree, he can support himself. But he can’t even think how he’d start trying to put his life back together, if–

“That’s what I thought,” Seb says, his hand softening on Louis’ shoulder, turning the firm hold into an affectionate stroke. “Enough of this, ok?”

Louis remains motionless, his gaze fixed straight ahead. When Seb’s wandered off towards the hallway, Louis finds his voice again. “I fucking hate you sometimes,” he mutters.

Seb stops in his tracks. “Say that again.”

Louis’ intimidated by the tone of Seb’s voice, acid and biting, but he doesn’t back down. “You heard me.”

Seb turns on his heel and strides back over to Louis, yanking him out of his chair. Face to face, Seb crowds into his space, a tight hand on his forearm, breathing heavily.

“You don’t know how good you’ve got it, Louis,” he spits out, voice a hoarse whisper, “you’d be _nothing_ without me.”

Louis trembles despite himself but he doesn’t break eye contact, refusing to back down. “That’s not true.”

Seb laughs again, a horrible, hollow bark of laughter. “You’d never have amounted to anything, my darling.” The term of endearment hits Louis in the gut and he feels sick.

“I bet you’d still be in Donny, _writing_,” he says the word as if the mere concept is ludicrous, “trying to find your _voice_, trying to convince someone you have anything interesting to say at all.” Seb’s gaze flits from Louis’ eyes to his pursed lips, and Seb strokes the side of his face.

“I’m not worthless,” Louis replies, voice firm now. He makes to move out of Seb’s grasp, but Seb doesn’t let go, spinning him around on the spot so Louis’ is facing away, arm twisted painfully around his back.

“Let me go,” Louis gasps to no avail, trying to escape.

Seb murmurs hotly in his ear, “I know you’re not, and I love you, babe.” He wraps his other arm around Louis front possessively, thumb rubbing little circles on his belly. “But don’t ever forget that you belong to _me_.”

Afterwards, Louis hides in his office despite being unable to type out a single word. Sometime later, he emerges to the kitchen to make a tea, finding Harry’s sunflowers in the sink, showered by shards of glass from the broken vase.

❀ ❀

The following day, Harry’s day off, he’s lounging around his flat trying to will himself to do some housework when he gets a text from Louis.

_You in the shop today? _

Harry tries to temper his excitement but replies instantly, after all, it’s an innocent question.

_We’re shut today, flower emergency? ;)_

Louis replies with no trace of humour.

_Something like that. Can I see you?_

Harry’s surprised and his heart beats faster.

_Sure, of course. Everything ok? _

Louis doesn’t reply.

An hour later, Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s been faffing around since Louis first texted him, too riled up in anticipation to do much of anything besides fuss with his outfit. It’s not that he’s even expecting anything, that anything’s going to happen, it’s just how Louis makes him feel. Harry gulps when he reads the message.

_I’m downstairs. _

Harry runs down the stairs from his flat to the shop, pausing briefly in the backroom to catch his breath and so Louis doesn’t think he’s totally desperate. His breath catches when he spies Louis through the glass and he unlocks the door from the inside, the bell tinkling overhead.

“Hi,” Harry offers breathlessly.

Louis licks his lips and nods, shouldering past Harry to step inside. Harry locks the door behind him and they stand there, face‑to‑face and Harry doesn’t know whether he should speak or let Louis go first. They end up talking simultaneously; “I’m sorry, I–” Louis says at the same time as Harry says, “I’m glad you came.”

Louis smiles softly, eyes to the ground.

“You want a brew?” Harry asks once the awkwardness is over.

“Definitely,” Louis replies and Harry gestures towards the back.

As they move into the backroom, Louis stops short of following Harry up the stairs to his flat.

“Actually, I better not.” Louis clasps his hands together awkwardly. 

Harry turns on the stairs and smiles apologetically. “I can just run up and make you one? If you want.”

Louis chews at his lip nervously but shakes his head, “It’s fine.” Then, “Come back here.”

Harry descends the stairs again; his hair is out and it bounces around his shoulders happily.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Louis says when they’re standing face to face, and Harry doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry says, still smiling just for having Louis’ eyes on him.

Louis steps forward and gently tucks a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear, but Harry loves it but he can’t help the guilt tugging at his heart.

“Lou,” he whispers, “why are you here?”

“I–” Louis starts but he doesn’t finish, stepping closer still so their bodies are flush. He places a small hand to Harry’s chest, just a light touch, but Harry can feel the heat through his shirt.

“Lou–” Harry says his name but it sounds like nothing but a nervous breath.

But Louis doesn’t acknowledge it, leaning in further still and Harry swallows audibly. Louis leans up to brush Harry’s nose with his, the touch so light and so sweet that Harry squeezes his eyes shut. He wants Louis so badly but he can’t make a move, he _can’t_.

“Lou, we shouldn’t…” he says painfully. He feels like his throat’s closing but Louis doesn’t back down, reaching his other hand up to grip at Harry’s shoulders.

“I know you want to.”

And Harry _knows_ it’s selfish, but he _wants_ to be selfish, wants to give in, even if it doesn’t lead to anything else besides this moment– so he does, wrapping an arm around Louis’ back and pushing him up against the arranging table, a wide bench along the side of the room.

“Tell me it’s ok,” he mumbles into Louis’ neck, his body lighting up at the scent of Louis’ skin; it’s sweet, crisp and clean like a lily of the valley.

Louis grips him around the back of the head and pulls Harry’s head out from where it’s nestled. He nods when they make eye contact, moving his hand to Harry’s face. “Kiss me.”

Harry seals their mouths together with a gasp, wrapping his other arm around Louis to press their bodies close, and it’s everything he hoped it would be and more. Louis is soft in all the right places but his skin is like fire and Harry’s wonderment quickly turns to hunger, pawing at his arse and moaning into his mouth.

Louis appears to be on the same page, panting heavily within minutes and when Harry pulls away, his eyes are dark and his lips swollen like he’s pretty much ready for anything. Louis closes the space between them this time, lunging at Harry with a hand in his hair, tugging roughly at his curls as he licks into his mouth. Louis’ fingers work quickly at Harry’s shirt and when he strips it from his shoulders, he stares wolfishly at the assortment of designs on Harry’s pale chest.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” Louis murmurs huskily and Harry feels so light with happiness and pleasure that he feels like he might float away.

Louis brings him back down to earth with a deliberate hand to his dick through the front of his jeans like he means business. Harry’s still in awe though, desperate to get a hand or a mouth to every part of him, hands dancing lightly across Louis’ skin under his clothes. After the initial burst of passion, Harry wants to take it slow, enjoy every moment but Louis is determined, his hands now at Harry’s belt, then his zip, scrambling to tug Harry’s jeans partway down.

“Woah, Louis, wait,” Harry says when Louis’ riding his thigh, because he wants it, he wants Louis so much, but his desperation is making Harry uneasy. He moves his hands up to stroke at Louis sides. “We can just take it slow, babe.”

Instead of calming him, Louis bristles at the word and Harry baulks; he’s gone too far, too intimate, with his gentle touch and kind words, turned it into something it was never meant to be. He wants to strip Louis naked and fuck him over the bench, but at the same time, he also wants to cry, like he can have Louis, but never quite in the way he wants.

Louis doesn’t give up though, grabbing Harry’s hands to put them back on his arse, grinding their hips together, pushing his tongue back into Harry’s mouth so he can’t speak. So hot for him, Harry just goes with it, stroking Louis hair before kicking off his jeans and dropping to his knees.

Louis moans loudly as Harry sucks him eagerly, long fingers pressing into the soft flesh of his arse. Harry’s completely lost in it, and it’s not the romantic coming together he’d imagined but it’s just as good, Louis needy and wanting, gripping his hair and fucking his mouth. 

After a few minutes, Harry pulls off, desperate for breath, pressing his forehead to the meat of Louis’ thigh but Louis tugs him up by his hair.

“I wanna get you off,” Harry mumbles around Louis’ filthy kisses, his small hands pressing pink marks into Harry’s chest. Louis doesn’t acknowledge it though, just twists around in his arms.

Harry strokes at Louis’s still-clothed back, down to the soft bow of his arse; he knows what Louis wants but he wants him to ask. Harry mouths at Louis’ neck, nose pressed into his hair.

“Tell me what you need,” Harry instructs, pushing up Louis’ sweater to sweep his fingertips over the dimples at the base of his spine and Louis melts into his touch, legs already shaking with anticipation. Louis kicks off his jeans where they pool at his ankles and moves his feet apart.

“There’s lube and a condom in my jeans pocket,” he pants, and Harry dives down to retrieve them.

Harry’s gentle as he fingers him open, one, then two, then three, whispering sweet things in Louis’ ear and kissing at his neck the whole time. But Louis seems far away now, his breaths short, his eyes closed and he melts backwards into Harry’s hand like he can’t focus on anything other than the intensity of the feeling.

Harry presses inside him purposefully and Louis’ eyes shoot open, pushing bodily back into Harry, chasing the touch. “Are you ready?” Harry asks and Louis turns his head around, licks his lips and nods.

Louis’ drumming his fingers on the table impatiently as Harry rolls on the condom and he takes a final quiet moment to make sure Louis wants it.

“Lou, are you sure?” Harry whispers, “we don’t have to–, I mean–”

“_Yes_, I want to,” Louis replies breathlessly, and Harry wonders if he’s trying to convince himself as much as Harry to go through with it. Harry thinks he can hear the tremble in Louis’ voice.

“Lou–” Harry starts again but Louis cuts him off.

“Harry,” Louis says through gritted teeth, “just fuck me, _please_.” There’s a sad desperation in his eyes that breaks Harry’s heart but he wants him to feel good, would do anything to make him feel better.

Harry pushes Louis’ sweater up again to plant kisses down his back and Louis inhales sharply when Harry presses into him. “Fuck, are you ok? Do you need me to stop?” He doesn’t dare move.

Harry can see Louis blink back tears and he doesn’t know if the pain is physical or emotional. More than anything, he wants to wrap Louis into his arms, pat his hair, kiss his cheeks and tell him it’ll all be ok, but it’s not the kind of comfort Louis wants, Louis needs. Harry knows he won’t ask for anything but this.

“You can move,” Louis says, hands gripping hard at the edge of the bench.

Harry fucks him slow and gentle, one hand on his hip, the other drawing large circles on Louis’ back with his palm but before long, Louis’ grows impatient. “_Harder_,” he grunts, wrapping his hand around Harry’s thigh to draw him in closer. Harry speeds up and Louis moans appreciatively but Harry’s reticent, not to mention he already thinks he might come soon.

Louis’ still not happy though and he rocks backward, yanking Harry closer still. He’s not had a hand on his dick the whole time but it hangs hard and heavy between his legs, not flagging at all. Harry puts a hand on him but Louis swats it away. “_Harder_,” he pleads again.

Harry grips at Louis’ hips fucks him in long hard strokes until the sweat drips down his naked back; Louis’ eyes are closed and he whimpers in satisfaction. Harry’s legs ache from where he’s fucking Louis into the bench and he tilts his hips just slightly.

Louis cries out, pounding his fist on the table, “Fucking _fuck me_, Harry.”

Harry manages it for another minute, one hand on Louis’ shoulder, one on his opposite hip, pounding into him relentlessly even as Louis stomach smashes into the bench, and there’s no sound in the room besides their desperate pants and the sound of the table as it cracks against the wall.

Just as Harry’s about to say he needs to slow up because his legs are screaming, Louis comes with a deep whine, completely untouched, spurts of come splattering the concrete floor. Harry fucks him through it, slower now, as Louis’ orgasm reverberates through his body. His muscles spasm and he clenches around Harry’s dick; rapid, tensile little squeezes that has Harry coming immediately after, forehead pressed to Louis’ damp neck.

Harry pulls out as gently as he can, turning to remove and tie off the condom. When he turns around, Louis’s putting his jeans back on and honestly, it’s not the post-coital atmosphere he’d hoped for, dick soft as he stands in the backroom of his shop. Louis can’t even look at him.

“I could fetch you that tea now, if you wanted?” Harry offers with a hopeful smile but Louis’ expression is distant, cold.

“I better get going,” Louis says, pushing his hair off his face.

“Oh, ok,” Harry says, unable to stop the disappointment creeping into his voice. Louis must hear it because he gives him a long look and it’s regretful, Harry thinks. Apologetic, maybe.

Louis purses his lips and nods with finality, moves to the front of the shop to escape, but Harry, still naked, ducks forward to grab his hand. “Lou,” he mumbles, pulling him in for one final kiss.

Louis doesn’t pull away but he doesn’t kiss back either. “Haz,” he says, and Harry smiles at the nickname, pressing their foreheads together, but Louis only looks at him sadly. “You were… amazing, but we shouldn’t have done this. I’m sorry.”

With that, he pulls out of Harry’s grasp and walks out.

❀ ❀

Once he bursts out on the pavement, Louis’ eyes water and he wretches involuntarily, spitting bile into the kerb. It’s not that it was bad, not at all, it felt good, _so_ good, but Harry’s worry is stifling and Louis’ can’t handle the dual guilt of cheating on Seb and making Harry unhappy.

The sweat on Louis’ back is uncomfortable as it dries in the cold air and hands shoved in pockets, he strides down the street and into the Tube, only he can’t bring himself to go home.

Even if his relationship was fucked before, Louis thinks, it’s pretty much unsalvageable now and he cries unabashedly as he sits on the Tube, hot tears running down his cheeks such that an older woman has to ask him if he’s ok. He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head.

He takes the Bakerloo all the way to the end of the line before hopping over to the opposite platform and riding it all the way back to Paddington to make the connection onto Notting Hill Gate. It’s late before he gets home and despite their issues, for the first time ever, he prays Seb’s not home. Predictably, he’s not and Louis gets straight into the shower, a vain attempt at scrubbing away his indiscretions.

When Seb climbs into bed at one-am, Louis’ still awake, not that he lets it show. And when Seb throws an arm around him in his sleep some hours after that, Louis’ eyes well up. He scoots back into Seb’s embrace, his guilt mixing sickeningly with misplaced affection, but out of everything Louis feels, it’s the bitter taste of self-hatred that hurts the most.

❀ ❀

Harry doesn’t hear from Louis for the week following their encounter at the shop, and truth be told, he’s not expecting to again. Despite this, it doesn’t stop him wanting Louis, rehashing in his head all the ways he could have made things end differently.

“What’s the matter with you?” Nick asks while Harry’s scrolling uninterestedly on his phone. They haven’t had a customer for over an hour, no pick-ups are scheduled for the afternoon and Harry’s contemplating shutting early.

“Texting _Louis_ again?” Nick says his name teasingly.

Harry sighs loudly, chin in his hand as he leans on the counter, placing his phone face down. “Nope.”

“He dumped you already?” Nick jokes before looking up the read the dejected expression on Harry’s face. “Oh no, what’s happened?” He asks with wary concern.

Harry only shrugs. He knows if he opens his mouth, he won’t be able to stop himself spilling the beans to Nick and he can’t deal with Nick’s judgement today, not on top of his own misery, and shame.

“_Nothing_,” Harry eventually says loudly, conscious of Nick’s eyes boring into him, but Nick’s Nick and he’s not stupid. Nick just stares at him and it’s like a timeclock ticking down, until–

“Something happened…” Harry blurts out, cringing as soon as he says the words.

“Oh, what?” Nick whines, “What did you do?”

Harry smarts, standing up straight. “Why do you always assume _I _did something?”

Nick snorts. “Because I’ve met you.” He eyes Harry again and his expression softens, perhaps seeing the obvious anguish on Harry’s face. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Harry bites at the inside of his lip and drums his fingers on the counter; despite Nick’s question, it’s only a matter of time. Harry looks towards the front door of the shop to make sure no one’s approaching.

“We, uh…” Harry begins softly, “… slept together.”

Nick’s face goes ashen. “Harry, _no_!” he cries, and he’s horrified. “You didn’t! What did we say?!”

Harry winces; Nick’s disappointment is etched all over his face and it’s like a punch to the gut. “How could you be so selfish!”

Nick’s reaction, Louis’ regret and his own self-pity finally boils over and it’s too much; Harry’s eyes cloud with tears and he hides his head in his hands. Immediately, Nick moves to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Nick whispers, rubbing his back. “I’ll listen, if you want to tell. No more judgment, I promise.”

Harry wipes his nose on his sleeve messily before launching into Nick’s arms; when he’s told the whole sordid tale to the crook of Nick’s neck, he rises up, eyes still watery but tears not actively flowing now.

“It’s ok,” Harry snuffles, “you don’t need to say anything, I’m already completely disgusted with myself. You should have seen his face, Nick, he–”

Nick interrupts him. “Hey, now, you don’t need to make yourself feel any worse, babe. It was a mistake, you both know that. And this’ll sound harsh but it’s his life, his relationship. You just need to look after you now.” Nick reaches a hand up to stroke his hair. “Lesson learned, hm?” he adds gently.

Harry nods forlornly and he’s overtaken by another wave of guilt-induced nausea. “Oh, Grimmy,” he manages to get out before diving back into Nick’s arms as the tears return hot and fast. “What did I do?”

Nick resumes rubbing broad circles across his back.

“The worst thing is,” Harry starts again, his voice barely audible where his mouth is squashed into the fabric of Nick’s t-shirt, “I still want him. So fucking much.”

❀ ❀

If Seb notices something’s amiss, he doesn’t say anything, and although Louis thinks he suspects nothing, it doesn’t stop the guilt weighing on him like a ton of bricks. Since that day in Harry’s shop, he’s tried to bend what happened every which way to try and formulate it into something that feels legitimate but it’s been for nothing. No matter what he does, thinks, it replays in his mind, and the truth is this: he’d wanted Harry so much, wanted his interest, his kindness, something resembling love. But as much as all that, it had been a physical need, a yearning from somewhere buried down deep, desperate and hungry to be held, his hurt quelled, to feel tangible, real, _to matter_. But immediately after they’d come it had all turned to shit, one moment his heart filled with hope and sweetness, the next, brutal emptiness.

He feels horrible about how he left, too. Harry’s expression stricken as Louis made his piss-poor excuses and scampered out of the shop like a scalded cat. He wants to make amends but he has no idea how, and now, he doesn’t even have anyone to talk to. A miserable little voice in the back of his head tells him Harry probably wants nothing less than to talk to him now anyway, even if he never made any promises. He feels like a piece of shit.

“What’s your issue?” Seb asks the following Saturday morning where, by some miracle, he’s actually at home. They’re in bed, Seb pulling Louis back down every time he attempts to get up and make his escape. Louis grunts and rolls over; he wishes he could fake it but he has nothing to say.

Louis is a bag of nerves. He wants to take advantage of Seb being home, try to reconnect, and not only to appease his guilt. He also contemplates abandoning Seb to race down to the markets to see Harry, apologise, see if they can just go back to being friends. But more than anything, he just wants to silence the torment in his head, wants to disappear, have some space to breathe.

In the end, it’s the loneliness that gets him, the sucking despair of not having a single person to talk to that makes him pick up the phone to Harry when Seb eventually heads into the office, like he always does.

_I owe you an apology_, Louis texts before he can second-guess himself, _can we talk?_

His heart sinks when Harry doesn’t reply straight away, even though rationally, Louis knows he’s likely busy. Finally, after an hour, Harry sends a reply.

_Do you wanna come by later?_

Louis really doesn’t want to go back to Harry’s, back to the shop, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

A couple of hours later, after Louis’ spent the last hour pacing nervously around his flat, he takes the liberty of driving his little-used car over to Kensal Rise.

It’s Saturday so the shop is open for another hour or so and Nick eyes him suspiciously as he squeezes through the door.

“Alright?” Nicks says, voice aloof, and Louis doesn’t have a view on the guy but he wonders how much Harry’s told him. Nick promptly turns to go into the back, leaving Louis standing stupidly in the front of the shop.

Louis browses; he’s never really had a proper look before. It’s dark and cool and smells floral, and there are various pots stacked with ferns and succulents, vines draping themselves luxuriously on the shelves below. There are flowers everywhere, arrangements in mason jars, vintage vases, big bunches sitting in buckets on the floor, ready to be wrapped in paper and gifted to a loved one. Louis traces a finger over a tiny ceramic panda in a terrarium, a whole little world inside a big glass bowl that just screams it’s straight from Harry’s gentle imagination. 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, finally emerging from wherever he’s been hiding. Nick hasn’t re-appeared and Louis thinks that’s probably on purpose.

Louis chest flushes with warmth when he sees him, hands twisting together anxiously. All of a sudden, he can’t remember what he came here to say.

“Uh, hey,” Louis offers pathetically. He wants to stride over and hug him, press his nose into Harry’s neck, and hope it says what he can’t which is _I’m sorry, forgive me, _but mostly_ please don’t abandon me._

Harry, in his infinite compassion, or at least ease of reading people, seems to sense Louis’ complete inability to get his legs or lips to move.

“Do you want to come up? I’ll make us a tea. I told Nick to head home, so it’s just us.”

Louis’s shoulders loosen and his feet, heavy like lead on the concrete floor, finally lift to carry him over to where Harry’s standing, near the stairs at the back of the shop.

Harry’s flat is nice if a little kitsch, Louis thinks, but it’s also so charmingly Harry that he feels immediately comfortable. Harry pours them tea out of a teapot wearing a floral tea cosy and Louis desperately wants to tease him about it but he knows it’s not the time. There are flowers everywhere and Harry has a delightful little balcony, only a couple square metres wide, with potted hydrangeas and a healthy-looking dwarf lemon tree. It’s like Harry’s whole existence is the opposite of Seb’s; tranquil, whimsical, creative, and Louis wonders if Harry’s way would eventually drive him mad, or if it’s actually exactly what he needs.

Despite his quixotic surrounds, Harry himself looks _good_, and Louis gulps, the flood of desire returning despite himself. He peers over his cup at Harry as he sips his tea and admires the freckles on his neck, chocolate curls falling loose, those bloody _gorgeous_ dimples resurfacing when Harry can’t help but smile at him. After a few indulgent seconds though, he snaps himself out of it. He’s here to make amends, not complicate things further.

“So,” Harry says, putting his mug back down on the table, and Louis knows he’s taken advantage of Harry’s patience long enough.

Louis takes a breath. “What we did, the other day, it was a mistake.”

Harry fidgets uncomfortably and looks down. “That all you came here to say?”

Louis licks his lips nervously, wondering what to say next. “No. I came to say I’m sorry. For dragging you into the fucked up mess that is my life.”

Harry purses his lips before taking another swig of his tea. “I don’t know what to say, Lou.”

“I just wanted to apologise, that’s all. I shouldn’t have come, I–” Louis makes to stand but Harry tugs him down by the wrist.

“You don’t need to run away from me.”

Louis opens his mouth to object but Harry’s right, pretending Harry doesn’t exist won’t magically make everything alright with Seb, and Harry’s the closest thing to a friend he’s got.

“You don’t need to worry about like, using me, or whatever,” Harry says and Louis’ stomach lurches.

“It wasn’t like that for me at all,” Louis protests, “you must know that.”

Harry smiles gently at him like he’s a lost cause. “I guess. Didn’t feel very good at the time, but like, I guess I didn’t really deserve much.”

Harry’s only being honest but Louis feels more distraught than ever. He shakes his head. “You do, Haz, you deserve so much better. Better than me,” he finishes weakly.

Harry shrugs. “Doesn’t stop me wanting you.”

Louis cringes. “Harry, _please_. You know I can’t–”

“I know,” Harry replies, “and trust me, I don’t want a repeat of the other week.”

“I was hoping we could be…friends,” Louis offers but it sounds unconvincing.

Harry snorts and Louis’ heart sinks; apparently Harry agrees. “Lou, be real. You and I can’t be friends, not after what’s already happened, what I _want_ to happen.”

“But you just said–” Louis starts, confused.

Harry slams his empty mug back on the table. “No, Louis. I said I won’t help you cheat. But make no mistake, I want you, and if you wanted it, I’d be with you in a heartbeat.”

Harry swipes his mug off the table and storms to the kitchen and Louis hears the clatter when it makes contact with the sink. Louis looks over tentatively and Harry’s clutching the counter, breathing heavily.

“So that’s it then?” Louis asks, his voice quiet. “We can’t be friends, can’t be anything?”

Harry spins around. “What do you want from me, Lou? You know where I stand.”

Louis bristles. “You can’t, like, _push_ me into this. I’m not ready. You wouldn’t know, wouldn’t understand, it’s not that easy to walk away–”

Harry interrupts him. “For fuck’s sake, Louis, I’m not asking you to break up with him for me.” He walks back over to the table and slumps back into his chair. “But you deserve so much better, Lou.” Harry’s eyes are sad and Louis can barely handle his disappointment, let alone his pity.

Louis feels the bile rising in his throat and he sits forward indignantly. “Why does everyone think I’m so fucking weak? I don’t need you, or him, or _anyone_ telling me who I am or what I should do, and I especially don’t need you to come in on your white horse and try to save me. I don’t need fucking protecting, Harry,” he spits out bitterly, “you don’t even know me.”

Louis stares fiercely at him, Harry’s expression full of hurt and dismay; Louis thinks he might love him but it doesn’t stop him pushing his chair back and leaving.

❀ ❀

Louis feels no more comfortable at home than he did before his conversation with Harry and finally, finally, Seb seems to notice.

“You’ve been like this for weeks, what’s your problem?”

It’s such a loaded question that Louis would laugh if he had any mirth left in him at all.

“Do you love me?” is what Louis answers instead. He’s tired and worried and his brain won’t shut off but at the same time, he doesn’t even know if he cares anymore.

Seb looks at him quizzically. He’s wearing an old tracksuit top and in the low light of the evening, he looks a lot like the guy back in college and university who loved him so fiercely.

Seb puts his papers down where he’s sitting across the sofa from Louis. They’d ostensibly been watching a movie but Louis’ sure that if he asked him, Seb wouldn’t have paid attention to a single scene. To be fair, Louis is too preoccupied to be paying much attention either.

“What kind of a question is that?” Seb asks and Louis wonders when he stopped being able to read Seb’s expressions.

“An easy one.”

Seb snorts but Louis bristles; he’s not in the mood for games and he desperately needs to hear it. “Don’t laugh,” Louis insists.

Seb drops a hand on Louis’ knee where he’s sat curled up on the sofa, making himself small. Seb looks into his eyes and his gaze is piercing; like Louis, his eyes are blue. But if Harry’s eyes are green like a soft leaf, Seb’s are steely and cold like ice. “How can you even ask that?” Seb’s still not angry but he’s not kidding around anymore. He won’t say it either though, Louis thinks.

“Just say it,” Louis entreats, “_please_.”

“Why?” Comes Seb’s reply and Louis feels his blood run cold. “Why, Louis?”

“Just fucking say it!” Louis shouts, and they’ve reached the point of no return; he can’t think of any way this doesn’t end badly. “Why won’t you answer me?”

Louis feels Seb tighten his grip possessively and his upper lip curls as if he’s still finding this exchange the funniest thing. “I will if you tell me why you’re so desperate to hear it.”

Louis’ expression must betray him because a look of recognition finally flashes across Seb’s face. Louis’ heart beats faster, wondering if he’s gotten himself irreversibly out of his depth. He moves to get up but Seb holds him down with his hand on his knee. A muscle in Seb’s jaw twitches as he stares him down, “Louis, if you _ever_–”

And Seb’s so worked up, he can’t even get the words out and it gives Louis the strength to keep pushing. Suddenly, it’s like a switch flips and he’s ready for everything to unravel, no matter the cost. “If I what, hm?” Louis asks sharply, “If I _what_, Seb?”

He shoves Seb’s hand off him and storms to the kitchen. He’s feeling reckless now, euphoric, ready to burn everything to the ground. Seb still can’t–or won’t–answer him. “If I _fucked_ someone else?”

Seb looks murderous, eyes glassy and unblinking, but he doesn’t get up, still doesn’t say anything.

Louis paces from one end of the living room to another as his feeling of self-preservation dwindles away to nothing. “Because if I did, there’d be absolutely _nothing_ you could do about it.”

“Lou,” Seb chokes out, and Louis’ heart lurches because Seb hasn’t called him that in years. _That’s what Harry calls him_. His mind reels. If he’s honest, he’d expected Seb to lose it, call him names, probably even worse. “Lou, please. Tell me you didn’t.”

Louis’ so conflicted by Seb’s plaintive expression now that he contemplates taking it all back, denying everything, apologising and diving back into his arms. He sees the paths diverging in his mind, one leading back to Seb, back to his life, but he’s come too far now. He takes the other one.

“I can’t,” Louis replies softly, “because it wouldn’t be the truth.”

Louis stays long enough to hear Seb utter a harrowing sob, but he doesn’t turn to comfort him. This time, _he_ gets to be the one to leave. 

❀ ❀

As soon as the front door shuts behind him, Louis realises he has absolutely nowhere to go. Harry won’t have a bar of him, he has no real friends to call on, his family all live outside London. The night air is bracing on his face but surprisingly refreshing and he walks and walks, feeling alive amongst the hum of the city. He doesn’t feel happy necessarily but he’s buoyed by his own bravery and feels sanguine about the future. If things with Seb work out, then at least they’ll have turned a corner. And if they don’t, well, it wasn’t meant to be. Then, on top of everything, is Harry.

Finally, he gets himself a hotel room close to home having walked in a huge circle. It’s strange having a bed truly to himself, even if he’s spent more nights alone in recent memory than he’d care to admit.

The next morning his high starts to fade and he realises he’s a bit stuck; he’s in yesterday’s clothes, has nothing on him besides his wallet and his keys and worst of all, has nothing to do and absolutely nowhere to go. He wonders how he didn’t notice his life becoming so narrow, so colourless. He contemplates visiting the shop but it’s a pathetic thought; he doesn’t need that from Harry and Harry doesn’t want that from him.

Finally, after a leisurely café breakfast alone that feels nice, if a little weird, he admits defeat and heads home. Secretly he entertains the thought that Seb might be home waiting for him but when he unlocks the door, Seb’s at work, naturally. Seb always did know how to get on with things, Louis thinks.

Even home, Louis doesn’t feel much better; he doesn’t know if Seb will let him beg for forgiveness or just kick him out. Finally, he hedges his bets, not packing but arranging some key items in such a way that he can grab them if he needs to. He can’t relax and there’s nothing to do besides await his fate. The worst thing is, he can’t even decide what he wants.

When the microwave clock ticks six, Louis waits on the sofa for Seb to come home, but it’s anticlimactic because Seb doesn’t come home; not that night, nor the one after that, and if it wasn’t for all his belongings claiming every corner of their home together, Louis might think he wasn’t coming back at all. Louis feels a little ill wondering where he’s sleeping but then realises he has no right to that feeling.

Finally, on the third night, late, Seb drags himself through the door and Louis’ relieved to see he looks disheveled, like he’s been sleeping at work, or not sleeping at all. Seb doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him as he heads straight to the shower. When he gets out, Louis’ in bed and he’s shocked when Seb climbs in behind him. Despite himself–maybe it’s deliberate, maybe it’s a reflex–Louis edges just a fraction backwards and he’s surprised again when Seb immediately throws an arm around him and pulls him in close. “I love you,” Seb whispers in his ear and Louis’ breath catches; whatever recklessness he’d felt the other night has all but abandoned him and now he’s more confused than ever.

❀ ❀

After his experience of being left, quite literally, out in the cold, Louis resolves to find himself a job, and it’s not so much that he _needs_ it, although he surely does for a whole raft of reasons, it’s that he _wants_ one.

Although he’d known the way he’d felt untouchable that night was sure not to last, it seems like something did spark in him, the smallest little flame of independence that, if nurtured, might actually turn into something that can keep him warm at night, spiritually and literally.

Meanwhile, things with Seb are strange; not bad, but certainly different. For one, Seb, normally so possessive, has asked no questions about Louis’ indiscretion. At the same time, though, it’s not like he’s ignoring it or pretending like it didn’t happen. It’s crazy, but if anything, Louis thinks it’s like Seb _respects_ him for it. He’s also spending more nights at home.

“I’m going to find a job,” Louis says one evening, when they’re eating dinner. For the first time in a long time Seb has his work put away and the telly is off.

Seb looks up at him from his spaghetti. “Sounds good, babe.”

Louis puts his fork down. “You don’t care?”

Seb shrugs. “Why would I care?” and when he smiles at him, Louis hesitates because it almost looks genuine. “You should,” Seb adds, “if that’s what you want.”

Maybe it’s Stockholm syndrome, maybe his curiosity finally gets the better of him but after a few nights of living in the twilight zone, Louis finally cracks.

“What’s going on with us?” he asks.

Seb looks up from his laptop and he flashes Louis the same evil grin that Louis first fell for back when he was seventeen. “How do you mean?”

Louis sighs, he doesn’t want to tempt fate, but nothing about their current scenario feels real. “It feels… I dunno… _easy_ between us. In a way it hasn’t for a while. But it shouldn’t, right? I fucked up.” Neither Seb nor he has acknowledged the elephant in the room that is Louis’ cheating since that night.

Out of all of his possible reactions, Seb laughing wasn’t the one Louis expected and it puts him on edge. “You think it’s funny?” Louis asks, chuckling nervously along with Seb. 

Seb eventually stops laughing and smiles, sighing. “Oh love,” Seb begins, and Louis feels his skin prickle, as if subconsciously it’s predicting Seb’s about to say something condescending. “I just figured you wanted to get it out of your system. Sow your wild oats or whatever.” Seb waves his and dismissively, still smiling.

Louis’ heart sinks before the realisation hits him. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

Seb doesn’t answer though, only smirks.

“You’re not angry then?” Louis asks; he can feel his own anger rising. Louis _knows_ Seb’s full of shit, saw how tortured he was by Louis announcement, but he’s too proud to admit it and too fucking arrogant to fight for him.

“Of course I was, but I’m good now. I know you won’t do it again.” His tone is light but his eyes are challenging, and all of a sudden, all over again, Louis feels about two inches tall.

❀ ❀

If Nick’s noticed that Harry hasn’t said anything about Louis for over a week, he doesn’t say anything, and for the first few days, Harry’s grateful. He’s still reeling from the fallout with Louis, knows there’s nothing he can do or say that will change their situation; it is what it is.

Slowly, his mood improves, and that Nick does notice.

“Look at you,” he says one sunny weekday morning. The weather feels genuinely warmer now and they have a near constant flow of customers in the afternoon grabbing bunches before, Harry assumes, taking their boyfriends and girlfriends, out for dinner. “It’s like you’re buzzing.”

Harry smiles shyly but he supposes it’s true; he loves spring when it’s in full swing, when there’s so much romance and promise in the air. “I’m just feeling really good about everything,” he replies.

Nick smiles back warmly, “I’m glad, Haz. I didn’t want to raise it but I’m glad that whole nasty business with Louis didn’t get you down too long.”

He’s not heard the name from Nick’s mouth in weeks but pathetically, the sound still makes his heart beat faster. Harry shrugs and smiles, not altogether convincingly. “I feel like I’m ready to get back out there.”

“It’s wedding season, eh,” Nick replies, “maybe you can meet yourself a nice groomsman.

Harry snorts. “Find one for you maybe.”

They get back to work for another half an hour before Harry’s urge to share finally gets the better of him.

“I told him I wanted him but that I wouldn’t cheat.”

“That’s good, Haz,” Nick says but Harry knows he’s not really listening, figures as far as Nick’s concerned, as long as Louis isn’t screwing up Harry’s life, he doesn’t need to know details.

“Not that he wanted to,” Harry adds.

Nick nods, “Mm-hm.” He’s stripping rose stems aggressively, gloves on his hands to protect from the thorns.

“Nick!” Harry finally calls, so Nick actually looks up at him. “I know you didn’t like him but you could be a friend and actually listen.”

Nick has the manners to not look totally irritated. He puts down the rose he’s working on. “Sure Haz, what do you want to talk about?”

As if in slow motion, Harry’s sunny expression fades; it’s like he’s spent the last week pretending to be happy, pretending to be fine with it when really his heart aches and he’s angry at the injustice of it. It’s all rather pathetic, he thinks, but it doesn’t make the hurt less real.

“He’s a fucking asshole, Grimmy,” Harry blurts out.

Nick looks puzzled, “Louis?”

Harry huffs, “No, not Louis, _Seb_–his asshole boyfriend. He doesn’t appreciate him.”

Nick looks helpless again but also a bit exasperated, “Haz… stop. I’m sure he is but you can’t make Louis choose you and you can’t make it easier for Louis to leave him. He has to do that for himself.”

“But–” Harry starts but he really has no counter-argument, after all, that’s what Louis said himself.

Harry takes a breath and exhales, squeezing his eyes shut. When he speaks again, his voice is resigned and soft. “It’s not like I thought he’d leave him for me, but I didn’t think he’d go crawling back to him either. I just… feel like shit, I guess.”

“Come here, H,” Nick says, pulling him into a hug; it’s like they’ve been doing that a lot lately. “I know it’s shit. You don’t have to pretend it’s ok, not with me, hm?”

Harry nods into Nick’s shoulder, “I just miss him.”

“I know, love.” 

❀ ❀

Business goes on as usual and Harry doesn’t see Louis. He wonders if he comes to the markets at all anymore, wonders what’s sadder, Louis not coming, Louis coming but deliberately ignoring him, or Louis not needing to come at all because he’s happy, with Seb. 

It’s one rainy afternoon the following week that everything turns to shit.

Nick’s made a mercy dash to the craft store because it’s been so busy, they’ve run out of crepe paper. Meanwhile Harry’s desperately trying to throw together respectable bouquets from the dregs of stock they have left; the backroom’s almost bare.

The bell on the door tinkles and Harry groans; he needs to keep working but without Nick, he can’t just ignore customers. He dumps the elegant bunch that he’s working on in a stand so it holds together and nothing gets damaged and heads out front.

“Hey mate,” Harry greets the man standing at the counter, wiping his hands hurriedly on his apron.

The customer is a well-dressed, corporate-type, one of those young professionals Harry hears about but never actually seems to meet. The guy is Harry’s height, muscular, with fair hair cropped close. He’s handsome but not in a generous way, as if he’s all too aware of how good-looking he is.

“What can I help you with?” Harry asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as rushed and breathless as he feels.

“I want some flowers delivered,” the man starts, and Harry would normally make a joke that he’s come to the right place, but this guy doesn’t seem up for it so he stays silent.

Harry clasps his hands together in relief, thankfully he can make something spectacular after they restock tomorrow. He smiles. “Lovely. Do you know how much you want to spend?”

The guy sneers and Harry already decides he doesn’t like him. “Money no object, mate. Shall we say a hundred quid?”

Harry can’t help but stifle a laugh, this guy obviously doesn’t buy flowers that often but all of a sudden he wants to make a grand gesture. “Fifty or sixty should be plenty, mate, trust me.”

The guy bristles obviously not pleased at being laughed at. “Fine, but I want it to be big, alright? We’re celebrating.”

Harry lowers his eyes and purses his lips but nods exuberantly, “Absolutely.” He wonders if this guy’s overcompensating for something. If only Nick was here, they’d be able to have a good laugh about it afterwards.

“Special someone?” Harry asks conversationally, already planning this guy’s ostentatious creation in his head. 

The customer turns around to where Harry’s standing, taken aback as if he hadn’t expected to be spoken to again. “He’s the best,” the guy answers coolly.

Harry didn’t take this guy for gay but he doesn’t let his surprise show. He thinks this guy’s partner’s probably exactly like him; rich, attractive, arrogant. They probably deserve each other, Harry thinks.

“Do you know what he likes?” Harry asks innocently and it’s clear it was the wrong question to ask. The guy marches up to the counter and Harry shrinks back.

“Look, I don’t care, just make it good.”

Harry nods, pushing the order form over the counter so the guy can fill in his information, meanwhile putting through the transaction on his credit card machine.

When he’s finished, the guy holds out the form for Harry to take but he doesn’t extend his arm so Harry leans across to reach for it. Only, when Harry clasps his fingers around the edge, the man yanks him near off his feet so he can speak directly in his ear.

“I know who you are, you fucking piece of shit,” the man says, voice menacingly deep.

Finally, it dawns on Harry who this is but he can’t move, can’t speak. He feels his heart beating in his throat, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Unfortunately for you,” Seb continues, “I’m going to propose, so best forget about him and leave him to a real man, hm?”

Seb straightens up, sneering now, and hands Harry the form.

“That’s all gone through,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice light, defiant, before handing Seb his docket.

Seb makes toward the exit before turning his head, “Harry, is it?” Harry nods before he can catch himself. “If you ever come near him again, I’ll break your arms, understood?”

Harry wants to look him in the eye but Seb’s an expert at staring people down. Harry lowers his eyes and nods once more.

"Good, sorted then.” Seb smiles cheerfully and walks out the door.

❀ ❀

When Louis gets home after his day of job interviews, he feels better than he has in months. Dressed in a suit, talking about his experience, shaking hands and offering business cards, it’s like he’s starting to remember the old Louis, the one that was shrewd and competent, and didn’t take anyone’s shit.

Just like everything else, Seb’s forgotten their conversation from the other day and although Louis’ gotten over his initial anger, he hasn’t forgotten how he felt when Seb laughed at him, the humiliation seared into his brain.

When Louis tumbles through the door he’s taken aback. Their apartment is even more spotless than usual, the living room in perfect order, the kitchen gleaming. The table is set and there’s an actual _candle_ flickering on the dining table, and he knows immediately something’s up. If Seb was actually anywhere to be seen, Louis would make a lame joke about it not being able to believe it’s their flat because Seb doesn’t do romantic dinners, and he certainly doesn’t do candles.

It’s only then that he spots the bouquet lying on the edge of the kitchen bench and it’s not in a vase, Seb having smashed their only one. Louis immediately recognises the wrapping paper, the little business card stapled to it, and he gulps, not sure if he’s in for a seduction or an ambush.

Finally, Seb appears. He’s in a smart navy shirt that brings out his eyes, sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons undone. In his more insecure moments, Louis’ wondered why a guy that looked like Seb, was like Seb, had ever been interested in a scrawny little kid like him. Sure, when they’d been young, he’d been a live-wire, mouthy and fun, but even if Seb had liked that in the beginning, he’d made sure to whittle it down until practically none of that spirit remained.

“What’s all this?” Louis asks. It’s such an unfamiliar feeling, being romanced, taken care of anywhere but the bedroom, that he can’t help the smile spreading across his face.

“I can’t just do something nice for you?” Seb attempts, but Louis raises his eyebrows sceptically. “Ok, fine,” Seb acquiesces, “I know I’m not always the best boyfriend, but I want to do this kind of thing more.”

Louis doesn’t know whether he should believe him but he desperately wants to.

“Come on, put your shit down,” Seb says, barrelling over to help him.

They order in, after all Louis’ not expecting miracles, and after dinner, Seb goes quiet. The flat is cast in darkness, the only light emanating from a lamp in the living room and the candle that’s still flickering between them. It casts a shadow across Seb’s face, one half light, one half dark.

“So,” Seb starts, “I have to admit that I didn’t do all this just for nothing.”

Louis snorts. “You mean call the cleaner and order a takeaway?”

Seb lowers his eyes and smiles, and Louis thinks it’s really nice being able to joke with him like this again.

“I also got you flowers,” Seb says pointedly but he’s not even angry.

Louis blushes scarlet. “How did you know?”

But Seb doesn’t tell him, only smiles. “We don’t need to talk about that now.” Louis exhales and assumes it’s Seb’s way of telling he forgives him.

“_Like_ I was saying,” Seb starts again playfully “don’t get too used to it. This is a special occasion.”

“Oh, is it?” Louis teases but he really has no clue what Seb’s on about.

Seb grins at him for a beat before digging around in his trouser pocket, fishing out a black velvet ring box. He places it delicately in front of Louis on their expensive dining table and Louis’ mouth drops open.

“Don’t just stare at it, open it,” Seb says, still grinning peaceably.

“What is this?” Louis asks, stunned, still not reaching for the box. 

“What do you think it is?” Seb says, “Open it.” He pushes the box further towards Louis.

Louis’ terrified of what it all means but he can’t help himself. Inside the box is a beautiful platinum ring, its bevelled edge catching the light.

“Is this–” Louis starts but Seb cuts him off.

“It’s an engagement ring, babe. I’m asking you to marry me. Try it on.”

Louis stares at it again, speechless, before looking back up at Seb. After what seems like an age, he finds his voice. “I can’t.”

A look of something–anger, fear, Louis’ not sure–flashes across Seb’s face. “You can’t marry me, or you can’t put it on?” He huffs out a little laugh but Louis can hear the doubt creeping into his voice.

Louis swallows and he knows it’s now or never. He steels himself. “Both.”

Seb sits back in his chair and rubs the back of his neck incredulously and Louis thinks Seb would be angry, probably embarrassed, if he could actually believe it. “… You’re saying no to me?”

Louis knows they need to have this conversation, have it properly, work out what it all means, but there’s no way Seb is going to take any of this well. “I’m sorry.”

Seb smarts at that, his eyebrows going sky high. “You’re sorry? You’re _sorry_, Louis? What the fuck are you talking about? Ten fucking years, I thought this is what you wanted!” His volume is rising and Louis knows it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better–if it does actually get better.

Louis looks down at his empty plate but he doesn’t say anything.

Seb doesn’t seem to care and just keep going. “Are you fucking kidding me, Louis? You’re saying no to _me_? Do you understand how much I’ve done for you? For _us_?” Seb rises out of his chair and begins to pace.

Louis swallows and just lets him rage.

“What the fuck do you want, Louis?” Seb shouts and before Louis can stop him, he grabs his plate from in front of him and throws it at the wall where it smashes. Louis flinches but doesn’t look away.

“Is it him?”

“Is what him?” Louis barks back, finally losing his patience.

“Are you deaf or just stupid? Are you saying no to me because of how you feel about him? The fucking _florist_?”

Louis shakes his head, “No, _no_, it’s not because of him.”

“Bullshit!” Seb screams, “Is that your type now? Some long-haired, flouncy hipster that does fucking flower arrangements for a living? Are you fucking kidding me, Louis? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Seb paces some more but he’s not finished; he spins around.

“You better be fucking sure, Louis, because I won’t ask again. This is it for you. This is as good as it’s ever going to get for you, do you not understand that?”

Louis feels something tip. He stands up to face Seb even though Seb stands a good few inches taller and Louis straight up yells in his face. “Do you know what _you_ don’t fucking understand, Sebastian? It’s not about him, not at all, it’s about _you_. I’m not saying no because I want to be with him, I’m saying no because I can’t be with you!”

Seb’s mouth hangs open but his eyes are unreadable and Louis can’t tell if Seb’s going to yell back or just crumple.

“I–” Seb begins but he knees buckle and he falls onto the sofa.

Louis takes his chance. “I love you, but I’m leaving. For good.”

Seb’s neck snaps around so quick Louis swears he can hear it crack. “No,” is all he says, voice hard, “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis offers, “it’s over.” Louis feels the tears welling in his eyes and before he knows it they’re falling in swathes down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

Seb holds his face taut like he if he moves it’ll betray him. His hands squeeze at his thighs where he sits on the sofa, eyes blankly staring ahead.

“Are you going to say anything?” Louis asks, wiping at his tears roughly.

Seb looks at him plaintively and Louis’ mind flashes back to the insecure sixteen year-old kid who punched first and asked questions second, who needed Louis just as much as Louis needed him. Louis sobs, he knows it’s the right thing to do, has been a long time coming, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel a little bit like dying, a crushing dread so strong he can hardly breathe.

Louis just stares at him through wet eyes but he still doesn’t say anything. Finally, Louis gets up to head to their room; to sleep, to pack, he doesn’t even know.

“_Lou_,” comes the small voice from the sofa and Louis’ stopped in his tracks. “Please don’t go.”

It feels like someone has punched a hole in his chest and is squeezing at his heart. “Seb,” he starts, but there’s nothing he can say that’ll make things better. “I’m sorry.”

Seb gulps and he’s blinking back tears now too. “No, I’m sorry, I can be better, I promise, I’ll be better for you!”

Louis doesn’t know how to answer, even if what Seb says is true. He turns to the bedroom again.

“Louis, _please_, I’m begging you, you’re all I have,” Seb pleads and Louis can hear the genuine desperation in his voice.

Louis purses his lips and squeezes his eyes shut; it’s taking every ounce of effort to not go over to the sofa and wrap his arms around Seb and tell him it’s all ok, he’s not going anywhere. He stays stoic and still, knowing that if he moves, his traitorous legs will carry him straight to him.

“Baby, please–, Lou… _no_.” Seb’s crying too now, great fat tears streaming down his face making it red and blotchy and Louis’ never, _ever_ seen him cry and it just makes Louis cry harder. Seb leaps out of his seat but Louis flinches, taking a step back. Seb stops on the spot as if afraid he’ll scare Louis away forever.

“Marry me. Be with me,” Seb sobs, “I’m nothing without you. You’re mine, and I’m yours. Since the beginning.”

At that, Louis can’t handle it anymore and locks himself inside his office to leave Seb to cry it out; if they’re going to separate, he may as well start it now, not make things harder than they have to be.

Around two, Louis falls asleep on the office sofa and when he wakes the next morning, Seb’s gone. Louis wanders the flat like a ghost before he notices Seb’s left a note wedged under the ring box.

_Louis,_ it reads in Seb’s untidy scrawl, _I’ve gone up north for a few days so take the time to grab what you need. If you change your mind, I’m only a call away. _Seb signs it with _forever yours _and Louis can feel the familiar sensation of his throat constricting. He blinks back tears and wills himself to get it together. There’s a PS at the bottom; _keep the ring, I won’t need it. _

❀ ❀

Harry races down the hall checking the flat numbers as he goes. He hasn’t thought through this plan, hasn’t thought about what he’s going to say. He didn’t even tell Nick where he was going, knows Nick would have tried to talk him out of it, and probably for good reason.

He finally finds the right door and bangs on it before he can talk himself out of it. He realises he doesn’t even know if Louis’ home, or shit, if they’re _both_ home.

After what seems like an age, the door opens a crack and there’s Louis. He looks tired and a little dishevelled behind the chain of the lock but Harry can’t tell from where he’s standing if Louis seems happy or not.

“Is he here?” Harry whispers nervously through the opening.

Louis looks at him like he’s mad but he unhooks the chain and opens the door wide. “No, he’s not here.” He looks Harry up and down as if he’s concerned for him, standing in the hallway panting. “Do you want to come in?” Louis takes a step to the side to usher him in.

Harry looks around at their flat and it’s not enormous but it’s well-appointed, stylish but cold and Harry moves to wipe his hands on his apron nervously before realising he’s not wearing it anymore. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them still, swinging back on his heels trying to appear calm, as if he hasn’t just run to get here, having had to park the Kombi over a kilometre away.

“What are you doing here, Haz?” Louis asks gently. “How do you know where I live?”

Harry turns to look at him. “Delivery slip.”

Harry’s always bowled over by how lovely Louis is, features fine, eyes clear, warm smile that Harry doesn’t get to see near often enough. Then he thinks about Louis’ body underneath his house clothes, so demanding, his skin soft but burning under his hands, and–

“You can’t marry him,” Harry blurts out frantically. His heart is racing and he’s sweating and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen next but it’s what he’d come to say. “You said you didn’t need protection, and you don’t Lou, but shit, _fuck_, you deserve so much better, Louis, he’s not–”

“Hey,” Louis interrupts him forcefully, but he’s not angry. “Hey, it’s ok.”

Harry strides over to him. “It’s not, Lou, it’s not, I mean–it’s not about me, or you and me, he’s just–you can’t, _please_–” 

“I’m not marrying him, Harry,” Louis cuts him off. Louis’ serene despite Harry’s intrusion, Harry notices, calm and confident in a way he’s not seen. It surprises him.

Louis continues. “He asked and I said no. I love him, probably always will, but it’s over.” Louis’ expression is firm and Harry runs his eyes over him again. He can’t see any evidence of things having gone… wrong. “It was awful but it’s done. He’s at his parents place while I pack.”

Harry doesn’t know how to feel; truthfully he didn’t imagine this conversation going this way. He realises with shame that he didn’t think Louis would have the courage to do it but then he realises that he doesn’t really know Louis that well at all.

“I–wow, ok,” Harry utters uselessly.

Finally, Louis laughs, a gorgeous, bright, spontaneous laugh and it’s clear that he even surprises himself with how it sounds. He smiles at Harry quietly. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

Harry’s suddenly overcome with embarrassment, he feels like a total idiot. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This was totally inappropriate, I–”

Louis snorts. “_Inappropriate_? Calm down, Haz, it’s ok. As it turns out, you needn’t have worried but I appreciate it, I do.” He pauses and they smile shyly at one another for a beat, “I hadn’t had anyone but Seb for a long time, and you were a friend to me.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say and he realises with a start that, again, Louis needs a friend, not another boyfriend that tells him what to do and how to think. His heart sinks; Louis’ so close he could reach out and touch him but he keeps his hands to himself and buries his heartache deep. 

“Ok well, I guess that’s what I came to say,” Harry offers weakly, raking a hand through his unruly hair. He turns to go, his heart fluttering in his chest as he spies the bouquet he made for Seb that was ultimately for Louis. Despite Seb’s threats, he’d fussed over it for hours and hours, unable to find anything that was good enough, beautiful enough, to tell Louis how he felt about him.

“Haz, wait,” Louis says as Harry’s turned towards the door. “Friends?”

Harry feels like his heart is breaking but he returns Louis’ smile. “Friends.”

Tears stream down Harry’s cheeks as he walks back to his van.

❀ ❀

Nick strokes his hair for what feels like the millionth time lately. Harry uncoils himself from Nick’s embrace, wiping away his tears roughly. “It’s ok,” he says, convincing neither of them, “I’m ok.”

Of course, Nick is Nick and his advice is equal parts pragmatic and compassionate but it’s not what Harry wants to hear.

“Maybe in a little while, hm? Ten years is a bloody long time to get over. He’ll be on the rebound and… that doesn’t always work out.”

Harry looks at Nick apologetically, “I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. They’re both well aware that Nick was Harry’s rebound from his previous fling.

Nick scoffs, “Don’t worry about me, love. You’ve just got to bide your time and when he’s ready, he’ll come back.”

Harry nods. “He wants to be friends. For real this time.”

Nick smiles at that. “I think that’s a good idea. It sounds like he needs one.”

In the end, it’s only a few days after Harry’s sudden appearance at Louis’ flat that Louis gets in touch.

_Are you in the shop today? _reads Louis’ text.

Harry immediately has a flashback to the last time Louis texted him out of the blue like that.

_Still closed Mondays_, he replies, quickly adding, _but free to meet up if you want? _

_Shit, sorry_, Louis sends.

There’s a pause and the little ellipsis appears then disappears. Harry waits a full minute staring at the screen before Louis sends the rest.

_Can I come over? _

Harry’s heart beats out of his chest. He takes some deep breaths, trying to snap out of it. He wants to be a good friend, but he wants– he can’t help himself wanting more. A completely mad idea pops into his head and he fires back a reply.

_Give me half an hour? _

When Louis arrives, Harry makes him come around the back for once so Louis doesn’t have to walk through the shop. As soon as Louis steps through the door he can’t hide his surprise because on every surface are bunches and bunches of peonies, in all shades from white to dark pink.

Louis spins around, blushing red. “What’s all this?”

Harry shuffles his feet and looks down shyly, “Seemed to remember you liked them.”

Louis’ speechless and looks around in wonderment before stepping over to the table to lift a bunch to his nose.

“They smell amazing,” Louis beams and Harry’s so fucking in love.

He looks Louis square in the eye. “Yeah, they’re pretty damn special.”

Louis traces a finger over the individual petals and he looks pensive.

“So,” Harry starts, “not to say that I’m not happy to see you, but…” he trails off.

“What am I doing here?” Louis fills in the blanks. He puts the flowers down, looking serious now. “I felt… bad about how we left things.”

Harry blushes too now, despite his embarrassingly obvious display of affection, he doesn’t want to make Louis uncomfortable or feel like he owes him anything.

“You shouldn’t,” Harry says, “we’re good. Are you good?”

Louis smiles, “I’m good.”

Harry chuckles. “I sure know how to make things awkward, don’t I?”

Louis laughs good-naturedly with him. “I mean, I dragged you into all this so I’d say the awkwardness is on me.”

As much as Harry’s enjoying having Louis here, he can’t help but try and clear the air. “Lou, what are we doing?”

Louis’ smile falls as if he’s been called out. “Like I said, I want to be friends.” Louis’ eyes dart to Harry’s face. The silence hangs heavy in the air and Harry can’t be sure, so desperately doesn’t want to misinterpret what Louis’ thinking but he has a hunch, and he just goes for it.

“Is that all you want?” Harry asks, eyes dark, taking a step forward.

Louis’s expression is firm and he doesn’t step back. “I wanted to thank you.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not enough.”

Louis gulps and shuffles into Harry’s space. “…I want you.”

Harry forgets all his composure and tugs Louis into his arms but it’s innocent. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he whispers in Louis’ ear.

Louis speaks confidently into Harry’s neck and it send flickers of warmth up Harry’s spine. “I’m a big boy, Haz. I can look after myself.”

Harry nuzzles at his hair as he rocks them lightly on the spot, “I know you can.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Louis continues, “and I still want to be friends first, take things very slow, but…”

Harry pulls his face away so he can look Louis in the eye. “Wait–, you’re still going to let me kiss you, right?”

Louis snorts and he looks so happy that Harry can barely breathe. “Obviously,” he says. “I don’t think I could stop myself even if I wanted to,” he adds softly.

Louis licks his lips and Harry lets Louis make the first move, rising onto his toes to press their lips together. Unlike the previous time, it’s sweet and unhurried and Louis pulls away to plant little kisses all over Harry’s face and Harry can’t help but laugh, eyes closed, blissful.

“So,” Louis starts, voice barely a murmur, “likelihood that there are more of these in your bedroom?” He gestures with a tip of the head towards all of the peonies.

Harry walks them towards his room, Louis still wrapped in his arms. “I didn’t want to be presumptuous, but…” he starts, “about a hundred percent.”

Louis snorts gleefully again but his face turns serious as soon as they cross the threshold to Harry’s room. It’s a nice room with big windows and there are more of Harry’s trinkets dotted about, but unlike the main room where the flowers were intact, there are petals _everywhere_, on the floor, the surfaces, the bed.

“Holy shit,” Louis says, covering his mouth and spinning around. “What would you have done if I’d just come for a tea?” he asks incredulously.

Harry’s cheeks burn with heat. “Just… put them in the compost, I guess. But I thought, if there was even the smallest chance…” he trails off.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” Louis says seriously.

“I know. That’s why–, Lou– no one deserves romance more than you.”

Louis yanks Harry in by the front of his shirt and kisses him, hands on the sides of his face. “Thank you for loving me.”

Harry can only shrug and smile. “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Louis’ look is dark and determined then, pulling Harry’s t-shirt over his head before discarding his own. If last time Louis looked vulnerable and needy, this time he’s open and eager and Harry can’t believe how good Louis feels now that he can touch him without guilt or fear.

The late afternoon sunshine streams through the windows and casts the room in a warm glow. Louis lies down on the bed of petals and Harry’s in awe of how their pale suppleness contrasts with the gold of Louis’ skin. Harry runs long fingers down Louis’ chest, over the letters of the huge tattoo beneath his collarbones that he’d not even noticed the first time around. He trails them down to the gentle softness of his belly, up his sides, and Harry smiles when Louis curves in on himself, ticklish.

“Come down here,” Louis instructs and Harry lowers his body onto his as he kisses him slowly, lips gentle but inquiring. Harry pushes their hips together reflexively and Louis moans softly into his mouth.  
  
“Is this ok?” Harry asks, ghosting his hand over Louis’ belt and Louis nods.

Harry rolls Louis’ jeans down his legs delicately, like he’s unwrapping a gift. When he shucks his own onto the floor, he can see Louis’ already hot for him, writhing around amongst the petals, spreading his legs for Harry to lie back down between them. 

As the petals are crushed they release their scent and it’s intoxicating as Harry leans down to mouth at Louis’ neck. Louis clutches at the back of his shoulders, fine hands sweeping across Harry’s broad back. Harry could spend hours worshipping him but Louis’ not shy about asking for what he wants, giving his dick an impatient squeeze. He sits up with a start, pushing Harry back down. “Let me suck you,” he whispers, tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

Louis’ not as gentle as Harry was, tugging at the waistband of Harry’s boxers with his teeth, licking at the tip of his dick through the thin fabric until Harry can feel the damp of his tongue. Finally, Louis pulls his underwear down to his knees, rubbing a confident hand up Harry’s long thigh. Harry throws his head back in surprise when Louis takes him all the way down on the first go, moving up and down at a such a measured pace that it makes Harry’s toes tingle. Louis makes eye contact as he pulls off for split second, before diving back down enthusiastically and the smouldering look sends shockwaves from Harry’s dick to the tips of his fingers. “Lou, _fucking_ _hell_,” Harry gasps; Louis’ taking his time enjoying this, luxuriating amongst the petals on Harry’s crisp bedding and Harry knows immediately he could never get enough of this.

Louis sees how mad Harry is for it and it spurs him on, sucking harder, shallower, twisting his angle at the top, reaching a hand to tweak at Harry’s oversensitive nipples. Louis pulls off to grab Harry by the base, lick leisurely around the tip, tonguing his slit lightly as if it’s the most delicious thing.

“I should be doing this to you,” Harry pants, his cheeks are flushed and his hair is stuck to his head and he knows he must already look _wrecked_, the way Louis’ been working him over. But he wants to show Louis how special he is, how cherished he is, how good Harry would treat him, as long as Louis would have him.

“I told you,” Louis growls, understanding the implication of Harry’s words, “I’m not breakable.” He stares Harry down wolfishly before diving back down on him and it’s so good Harry can only whimper, his brain too overwhelmed for more thoughts, more words.

Finally, Harry pushes him off, seconds away from coming. He pulls Louis into his lap where he can grind into his arse but stops short, “Is this ok?” he whispers. Louis already looks gone, eyelids heavy, but he takes a moment to consider.

“Hang on,” Louis eventually replies, rolling off Harry before pulling him back on top, wrapping his legs around the back of Harry’s knees. “I want it like this,” he whispers into Harry’s ear. “This is perfect.”

Harry feels reinvigorated by Louis’ gentle words and kisses him hot and hard, teeth tugging at his lips and tongue licking into his mouth. Louis’ hands are on his arse and he pulls Harry to him such that there isn’t a breath of space between them, nothing but heat.

Louis’ vocal about what he wants but unlike last time, he’s patient, happy to go at Harry’s languid rhythm. Harry’s overcome by Louis’ soft moans as he fingers him, Harry’s fingers long and searching and Louis’ practically melting as he opens up beneath him. Harry’s in awe at how beautiful Louis looks; chest rising and falling quickly but evenly, knees tucked up, his dick leaking shamelessly where it lies, expectant, on his taut belly. Louis’ eyes are closed, like he’s far away, and although it’s something Harry’s done plenty of times before, the sight of his fingers buried deep inside Louis does something wild to his heart.

Before he can think it through, Harry flops onto his front, the petals cool against his chest, and he licks around his own fingers without warning.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis gasps, lifting his head off the pillow but there’s nothing to see besides Harry’s mass of dark curls between his legs.

Harry scissors his fingers, licking in between and Louis’ groans something guttural, unintelligible and his whole body shudders. “_Jesus Christ_, do that again,” Louis manages to pant, voice hoarse and overwhelmed and Harry grins to himself before diving down again.

When Louis can’t wait any longer, Harry tucks Louis’ knees to his chest and pushes in slowly, never breaking eye contact, and Harry thinks he’ll barely last with the way Louis’ looking at him, eyes sure but desperately wanting.

Harry has a hand to Louis’ belly, a thumb draped over his dick but with the unrelenting friction of his thrusts, before long, Louis’ urging him on. “_Faster_,” he begs, eyes squeezing shut. His hands grip the pillow underneath his head, bruising petals in his fists as Harry pounds into him. Finally, he comes with a high-pitched whine, still with nothing but Harry’s thumb on his dick, the powerful spray decorating his chest and dripping onto the sheets.

Harry fucks him a few more times before he pulls out, licking at Louis’ chest as his fist works over the tip of his dick until he’s coming too, hot spurts filling his palm. He wipes his messy hand on his own arse before slumping down on top of Louis, unable to move, unable to speak.

After a moment, Louis comes to. “Fuck, Haz,” he says, still out of breath as he strokes Harry’s hair where he’s resting on him.

Harry grins, cheek pressed to Louis’ chest, before laughing out loud. He grips at Louis’ ribs before pushing himself up even though it feels like his body is made of lead. “That was…” he starts, breathless, before catching Louis’ eye, the both of them chuckling happily again.

“Do you want to shower?” Harry offers politely, mindful that he has come drying on his backside.

Louis grins devilishly. “Nah, I rather like you like this.”

Finally, Harry drags him into the shower, ducking out early to tidy the mess of his bed and change the sheets. When Louis re-enters the room, looking small wrapped in one of Harry’s towels, it’s dusk, the sky still blue but lights starting to come on around the neighbourhood. Louis stares at the bed.

“You don’t have to stay,” Harry says nervously, still dressed only in his trunks. He doesn’t want to make Louis feel unwelcome but he’s under no illusions this is how things are going to be now.

Louis looks unsure, like he doesn’t know what he wants to do, so Harry tries not to spook him and offers him a tea, or a beer. Harry’s secretly pleased when Louis helps himself to a clean pair of Harry’s pants but doesn’t move to get dressed. He sits down on the bed where Harry’s stretched out, idly tracing his fingers over his butterfly tattoo.

“Was that ok?” Harry asks softly, reaching over to brush a thumb over Louis’ knee. It breaks Louis out of his reverie.

“Uh, _definitely_,” Louis answers but he looks like he wants to say more. “You know, my whole life, I’ve only ever had sex with one person. Now two.”

Harry’s heart sinks despite himself. “Oh, yeah you’ll probably want to go out and play the field a bit.”

Louis looks at him as if he doesn’t understand until he shakes his head, “Oh, no–, I didn’t mean I wanted to–, I don’t think I could do that,” he replies, looking self-conscious. “What I mean is, it’s going to be hard working out who I am now, what I want, without him.” He’s thoughtful but not really deciding anything, just stating facts. Harry can’t help but hold onto the tiniest shred of hope.

“I knew what I was getting into tonight,” Harry says even though it’s the hardest thing. “I know you can’t just like… flip a switch and be ready… even if you do want to try something with me… which like, you don’t have to, of course.” He lowers his eyes; he’s making a total dog’s breakfast of trying to give Louis space.

If Louis notices Harry’s embarrassment, he doesn’t call him out on it. “I know we shouldn’t jump into things but I also don’t want to have to go,” he says honestly.

Harry sits up a tad and rolls over to face him. “You don’t have to. In fact, we don’t have to do anything, we can just…chill,” he finishes lamely. 

Louis scoffs, smiling. “Sure, but this’ll be hard to forget.” He pauses, “Shame about all those flowers.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh now. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more.” His expression stills, eyes turning serious. “Anyway, none of them are as beautiful as you.”

Louis purses his lips and gives Harry a playful shove and says “Oh, stop,” but the way his cheeks flush makes Harry know he appreciates it.

❀ ❀ EPILOGUE ❀ ❀

  
Seb’s few days away turned into two weeks and Louis was grateful because it gave him time to get his shit sorted, having enough in savings to find himself a modest place in one of London’s less swanky boroughs. It’s not much compared to the place he shared with Seb, and he has barely any of his own furniture but it’s undeniably _his_, and it feels good. A few weeks after he interviewed, he’s offered a job too, at less pay than his former role but he’s eager and excited to build his credentials back up and get his career back on track. 

In his quieter moments, he’s still nostalgic for the good parts of his relationship with Seb, especially their history when it was them against the world. The passage of time inures him to the bad but it’s ok because now it feels like a dull ache than the acute pain of the night they split. He resists the urge to text Seb, make sure he’s ok, figures they’ve been too tangled for too long and nothing good can come from not giving each other space, at least for now. A few months later, Seb would send him a snap of himself, tanned and relaxed, on the first holiday he’d taken in years, with an accompanying message, a very final _Hope you’re doing well Lou_. _Take care. _

Then there’s Harry. Louis ended up sleeping over, the night they had sex, with Harry’s arm around him under the covers, holding him close. But true to his word, Harry didn’t pressure him and Louis didn’t jump straight in with both feet. A week later, after Louis collected the keys to his new place, Harry dropped off a little succulent while Louis was out, with a card that read: _Nurture it and look after yourself. I can wait. _

Louis folds up the final box and looks around, admiring his handiwork. The flat isn’t large and his living room essentially looks like a larger version of his old office; his sofa, framed pictures, desk, TV and a couple of bookcases making up the bulk of the possessions supporting his newly independent life. He’s unpacked but he knows it’ll take a little while for it to feel like home. 

He sits himself down at his desk, Harry’s little echeveria peering up at him happily. Booting up his laptop, he opens the document, and before he can overthink it, selects-all and presses delete. Starting afresh on a blank page, he begins to write.

  
❀ ❀ THE END ❀ ❀

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Harry owns a flower truck and Louis buys more than he can handle just to have the dimpled beauty’s eyes on him. Thank you prompter, I'm sure this is not what you had in mind, but it's the story that got written!
> 
> Seb - with apologies to Charlie Hunnam! 
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/183780535@N02/49058812332/in/dateposted-public/)  
  
Finally, I am also on [Tumblr!](https://bitter-leaf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> , come say hi if you like.


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